ALVMNVS  BOOK  FVND 


bp  SUice  Proton 


THE  ONE-FOOTED  FAIRY  AND  OTHER 
STORIES.  Illustrated. 

JOHN  WINTERBOURNE'S  FAMILY. 

COUNTRY  NEIGHBORS. 

THE  STORY  OF  THYRZA.  With  frontis 
piece. 

ROSE  MacLEOD.     With  frontispiece. 

THE  COUNTY  ROAD. 

THE  COURT  OF  LOVE. 

PARADISE. 

HIGH  NOON. 

THE  MANNERINGS. 

MARGARET  WARRENER. 

KING'S  END. 

MEADOW  GRASS.  Tales  of  New  England 
Life. 

TIVERTON  TALES. 

BY  OAK  AND  THORN.  A  Record  of  Eng 
lish  Days 

THE  DAY  OF  HIS  YOUTH. 

HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN   COMPANY 

BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 


THE 
MANKEKIKGS 


THE 


MANNERINGS 


BY 


ALICE    BROWN 


BOSTON    AND    NEW   YORK 
HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,    1903,    BY  ALICE   BROWN 
ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVED 


Published,  March,  1903 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. 

PAOB 

1 

II.    A  LETTER  FROM  LORRAINE    .... 

13 

III.    THE  HOUSE  IN  THE  WOODS        .... 

26 

IV.    A  CONFIDENCE          

39 

V.    OLD  LOVE  ESTRANGED         

50 

VI.    HEARTS  INSPIRED     

59 

67 

VIII.    GUESTS       

76 

IX.    IN  ONE  FORENOON       • 

91 

X.    HIGH  TEA  AT  HORNE'S    

101 

XI.    MAN  AND  WIFE    

108 

XII.    Two  DAUGHTERS  OF  ONE  RACE     . 

118 

XIII.    MADAM  WALSINGHAM 

130 

XIV.     NATALIE     i 

140 

XV.     A  NEW  NOTE       • 

148 

XVI.    A  DUAL  SOLITUDE    .        •                •        •        • 

158 

1  &r\ 

XVII.    BRICE  AND  NATALIE    

169 

XVIII.     A  PAIR  OF  GLOVES          .        •        •        •        • 

176 

XIX.    EARTH  AND  THE  MAN  • 

188 

XX.    AN  EQUAL  RIGHT     

196 

XXI.    A  GIFT  REFUSED 

209 

218 

XXII.    LEVINSKI   

XXIII.     THE  GHOST  OF  A  BRIDE      . 

229 

XXIV.    HUNTED  INTO  CORNERS   

237 

XXV.     FOR  NATALIE        ...•••• 

259 

XXVI.    SNOW 

XXVII.    SAINT  CHRISTOPHER     

272 

XXVIII.    IN  THE  EAST  CHAMBER    

283 
291 

XXIX.     THE  STARS    

9 

301 

vi 

XXXI. 

XXXII. 

XXXIII. 

XXXIV. 

XXXV. 

XXXVI. 

XXXVII. 

XXXVIII. 


CONTENTS 


SENSE  AND  SPIRIT 

THE  DARK  PLACE 

LOVE  DENIED    . 

BETRAYAL 

A  Vow  RENEWED 

THE  WAYS  OF  LIFE 

CASSIE 

THE  ORCHARD 


308 
321 


347 
354 
305 
374 


THE 
MAKKEKINGS 


THE  MANNERINGS 


ON    EDGCOMBE    HILL 

IT  was  a  winter's  twilight,  still  and  cold.  Katha 
rine  Mannering,  waiting  in  her  sleigh  at  the  station  a 
mile  from  Edgcombe  village,  looked  about  over  the 
hills  and  fields,  and  loved  them  the  more  because 
Elinor  Thayer  was  coming.  Sometimes  she  rebelled 
against  this  far  -  extended  quiet ;  to  -  day  it  held  the 
promise  of  old  friendship  happily  renewed.  The  gray 
little  station  made  a  homely  blot  on  miles  of  snow. 
The  wide  sweep  of  fields  where  it  stood  was  like  a 
map  painted  here  and  there  with  evergreen  patches 
and  cut  by  boundary  fences  and  the  brush-bordered 
line  of  river  running  down  to  the  village  beneath. 
This  was  an  undulating  land  of  ample  distances,  but 
toward  the  north  it  rose  in  the  long  sweep  of  Edg 
combe  Hill.  Men  of  a  simple  habit  lived  in  the  vil 
lage,  and  certain  of  the  quality,  as  unpretending  in 
their  ways,  had  built  upon  the  upland.  Each  knew 
the  other  and  there  was  respect  between  them  ;  but 
each,  constrained  by  kindred  reasons,  kept  to  his  own 
level,  and  was  satisfied. 

The  sky  had  been  clear  since  morning,  but  at  sun 
set  clouds  had  risen  in  the  west,  and  now  they  were 


2  THE  MANNERINGS 

dove-gray  and  rose.  It  was  early  winter,  yet  it  seemed 
to  have  been  winter  for  a  long  time,  the  snow  was  so 
piled  and  billowed  and  the  sky  so  responsive  in  its 
clear,  bright  cold. 

Katharine  Mannering  looked  at  the  west  when 
Mack,  the  great  black  horse,  would  let  her ;  from  time 
to  time  he  had  to  be  steadied  by  a  confidential  word. 
He  was  made  like  the  war  horse  of  Scripture  ;  but 
though  intended  for  proud  uses,  he  had  developed  a 
weak  ankle,  and  now  dwelt  humbly  on  Edgcombe 
Hill.  His  old  spirit  yet  lived  in  him  ;  but  when  he 
strained  and  leaped,  his  ankle  took  him  suddenly  and 
cooled  his  blood.  He  remembered  his  mortality. 
Katharine  loved  him ;  she  drove  him  understandingly, 
and  told  him  how  great  spirits  scorn  the  incidents  of 
flesh.  The  woman  herself  looked  as  untamed  as  the 
horse.  She  was  tall  and  generously  made,  with  a  won 
derful  harmony  of  bone  and  muscle.  Her  face,  rather 
daring  in  outline,  had  a  gaunt  beauty,  and  there  was 
something  potent  in  the  glance  of  her  challenging 
brown  eyes.  Her  skin  was  fine,  suffused  with  whole 
some  color  ;  not  the  hard  red  to  match  brown  hair  or 
black,  but  the  pink  healthfulness  belonging  to  red  hair. 
For  topping  her  favors  she  had  a  great  richness  of  that 
hair,  straight,  rather  coarse,  and  too  heavy  for  any 
woman's  head  unless  she  carried  the  burden  proudly. 

Katharine  was  eager  in  her  happiness  this  night. 
Yet  she  was  never  anything  less,  either  in  joy  or  grief. 
Her  blood  always  ran  fast,  her  hands  were  swift  to 
do,  and  her  feet  ready  to  carry  her  where  life  was 
hottest. 

"  So,  Mack  !  "  she  said,  when  he  forgot  his  ankla 
after  delusive  resting.  "  Steady,  boy,  steady !  " 


ON   EDGCOMBE  HILL  3 

A  man  appeared  over  the  crest  of  a  knoll,  and 
came  through  the  snow  with  an  unhindered  stride. 
He  was  tall  and  broad,  and,  from  some  effect  of  the 
light,  he  looked  gigantic.  Katharine,  as  she  saw 
him,  smiled  a  little,  and  her  eyes  widened  to  black. 
She  knew  him.  The  sight  of  him  pleased  her.  He 
stepped  over  the  low  stone  wall  on  the  other  side  of 
the  track  and  came  straight  toward  her.  He  was 
made,  in  the  comeliness  of  his  strength,  to  be  the  de 
light  of  woman's  eyes  ;  his  great  body  had  a  fine  inter 
play  of  muscle,  his  thin  face  was  toughened  by  outdoor 
life,  and  he  had  the  glance  of  a  hawk,  undaunted  when 
it  touched  the  world  of  nature  and  elusive  in  encoun 
tering  men.  They  were  strange  eyes,  honest  as  the 
light  they  fed  on,  and  yet,  like  those  of  a  wild  crea 
ture,  refusing  their  confidence.  You  could  not  get  be 
hind  them.  Midway  across  the  track,  he  took  off  his 
cap  to  Katharine,  and  then,  coming  nearer,  gave  Mack 
a  tranquillizing  touch  and  stood  there  with  a  hand  on 
the  horse's  flank. 

"  Come  home  with  us,"  said  Katharine,  smiling  in 
a  fashion  to  show  how  he  completed  her  pleasure  in 
the  day. 

"  No,  I  '11  walk,  thank  you."  His  voice  had  an  ex 
treme  gentleness  in  its  rounded  compass.  "  Have  you 
spoken  to  'Siah  about  the  trunks  ?  " 

"  Yes.     He  '11  take  them  up  in  the  pung." 

"  Then  I  won't  wait."  He  turned  away,  and  struck 
presently  into  the  fields  that  lie  over  Edgcombe  Hill. 

Katharine  watched  him  and  fell  to  musing.  There 
was  a  vague  disturbance  about  him,  perplexing  to  her 
who  did  not  hold  the  freedom  of  his  city.  The  hiding 
spirits  behind  his  eyes  never  betrayed  themselves  to 


4  THE  MANNERINGS 

her ;  yet  she  made  shrewd  guesses,  anil  when  he  was 
disquieted,  her  blood  also  changed  its  flow. 

The  train  ran  in,  and  one  passenger  alighted  and 
came  swiftly  out  across  the  platform.  She  was  a 
slender  woman  with  distinction  in  her  walk. 

"Elinor!"  called  Katharine  irrepressibly,  at  the 
moment  of  her  appearing.  "  Elinor  !  " 

Elinor  Thayer  gave  a  gesture  betokening  haste,  and 
then,  in  spite  of  herself,  turned  and  looked  up  the  hill. 
The  man,  now  far  upon  his  way,  had  halted  and  was 
gazing  down  at  her.  He  took  off  his  cap.  She  was 
not  near  enough  to  see  his  face,  but  she  stood  quite 
still  for  an  instant,  regarding  him.  Then  she  broke 
away  from  some  enchaining  fancy,  and  made  a  little 
run  to  Katharine.  But  against  her  will,  the  first 
words  she  spoke  surprised  her  as  she  said  them,  — 

"  Is  that  Gilbert  Home  ?  " 

"  Come,  Nell,  come  !  "  cried  Katharine.  She  had 
thrown  back  the  robe,  trembling  in  her  pleasure. 
"  Give  me  your  checks.  Here,  'Siah  !  "  She  tossed 
them  at  the  stage-driver  appearing  round  the  corner, 
and  he  caught  them  lazily.  "  Nell,  how  pretty  you 
are  !  how  young  you  look !  " 

"  Was  that  Gilbert  Home  ?  "  Her  voice  was  low, 
significant,  and  it  thrilled  upon  Katharine  with  the 
sweetness  of  dim  memories.  Hot  tears  burned  her 
eyes.  She  felt  like  a  girl  again,  assailed  by  the  pathos 
of  youth,  its  pain  and  longing. 

"  Yes,  it  was  Gilbert  Home.  But  look  at  me. 
We  won't  go  home  till  morning  unless  you  look  at 
me." 

Elinor  laughed,  and  they  fronted  each  other  in  pure 
pleasure. 


ON   EDGCOMBE   HILL  5 

"  You  're  the  loveliest  thing  that  ever  was,"  said 
Katharine  conclusively.     "  It 's  France,  I  suppose,  — 
Paris  gowns,  Italian  graces.     No,  it 's  you,  Nell,  still. 
You  've    only   bloomed.     Come,    Mack.     Now,    boy, 
now!" 

Mack,  ignoring  his  infirmity,  threw  up  his  head  and 
plunged  at  a  pretty  pace  up  Edgcombe  Hill.  Elinor 
regarded  the  white  country  with  delighted  eyes.  She 
seemed  to  be  breathing  in  more  than  air,  and  her 
pleasure  made  her  beautiful.  There  was  always  a 
rare  delicacy  about  her,  laid  like  a  veiling  loveliness 
on  health  and  sanity.  Her  profile  was  exquisite,  and 
the  short  upper  lip  had  a  pretty  uplift  unexpected 
enough  to  break  the  purity  of  line  and  stamp  a  flaw 
upon  perfection.  Her  eyes  were  brown,  and  her  thick 
brown  hair  grew  sweetly  about  her  face.  A  third  of 
the  way  up  the  hill,  Mack  quieted  into  a  steady  gait, 
and  Katharine  said,  — 

"  Do  you  know  it 's  nine  years  since  you  were  in 
America  ?  " 

"  I  know  it." 

"  Do  you  know  I  'm  forty  years  old  ?  " 

Elinor  laughed.  It  was  a  little  low  runnel  of  funT 
deliciously  incongruous  with  the  sweet  gravity  of  her 
face. 

"  I  don't  think  much  about  age,"  she  said. 

"  You  would  if  you  were  forty.  You  could  n't  for 
get  it  night  or  day." 

"  I  'm  thirty-three !  " 

"  Dear,  you  look  like  a  baby." 

The  other  woman  smiled  a  fine  little  smile ;  it 
seemed  to  put  personal  comment  out  of  the  ques 
tion. 


6  THE   MANNERINGS 

"  How  is  your  husband?  "  she  asked. 

"  Brice  ?     Well,  God-a-mercy  !  " 

"  And  his  father  ?  " 

"  The  captain  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Why  did  we  call  him  that  ?  " 

"  No  reason.  Brice  named  him  to  indicate  his  su 
premacy.  The  captain  is  well  also.  Unchanged,  ab 
solutely  unchanged  !  Every  hair  on  that  magnificent 
head  lies  as  when  you  saw  it  last.  He  sits  down  to 
his  Homer  at  precisely  five  minutes  after  nine  every 
morning.  He  opens  it  at  the  same  place  he  did  nine 
years  ago.  He  reads  ten  lines,  and  then  dozes  until 
somebody  comes  into  the  room.  Then  he  reads  the 
same  ten  lines  again.  The  book  falls  open  at  that 
place  if  you  look  at  it.  To-night  at  dinner  he  '11  ask 
you  about  the  color  of  Minerva's  eyes." 

Elinor  laughed  again,  with  the  air  of  doing  some 
discourtesy. 

"  You  're  not  a  good  child,"  she  commented. 

"  Good  ?  I  'm  wicked  !  They  've  goaded  me  too 
far."  Her  cheeks  were  flaming  with  excitement  and 
the  cold.  Her  eyes  flamed  also. 

"Who  are  they?" 

"  The  immortal  gods." 

"  Poor  Kate  !     What  have  they  done  to  you  ?  " 

Katharine's  face  broke  suddenly,  as  if  tears  would 
follow.  She  shook  her  head  in  brief  impatience,  as  a 
horse  shakes  back  his  mane.  A  breath  caught  dryly 
in  her  throat,  but  she  spoke  with  an  eloquent  harsh 
ness. 

"  That 's  like  you,  you  little  beast,  making  me  tell 
everything  I  know.  I  never  saw  your  match  for  pull 
ing  the  heart  out  of  one's  breast.  I  meant  to  tell 


ON  EDGCOMBE   HILL  7 

you,  though.  I  'm  tired  of  hiding  things,  tired  of 
lying,  tired  of  saying  '  good  Lord  and  good  devil/ 
I  promised  myself  you  should  know  the  worst  of  me 
when  you  came.  But  I  never  thought  I  should  begin 
so  soon." 

A  vague  trouble  lay  lightly  upon  Elinor's  face,  not 
dispersing  the  tranquillity  there,  but  clouding  it. 
This  tranquillity  was  a  strange  thing  in  one  so  open 
to  varying  moods  in  others,  so  likely  to  respond.  She 
seemed  to  have  some  secret  life  whereon  her  outer 
being  was  planted,  like  a  growing  thing.  Thence  it 
drew  its  nourishment ;  it  drank  from  wells  of  cer 
tainty. 

"  Poor  Kate  !  "  she  said  again.     "  I  'm  sorry." 

"  No,  don't  be  sorry.  It 's  nothing  real.  The 
house  has  n't  burned  down,  we  're  no  poorer  than  we 
were,  and  we  have  n't  had  '  grip  '  for  two  years.  I  am 
simply  a  rebellious  spirit." 

"  Your  husband  is  in  business,  of  course  ?  "  asked 
Elinor  at  random. 

"  Don't  call  him  my  husband.  Call  him  Brice,  as 
you  used  to.  Yes,  he  's  still  in  business.  He  gets  up 
at  precisely  five  minutes  before  seven  every  morn 
ing.  He  breakfasts  at  ten  minutes  before  eight.  He 
takes  the  eight  forty-three  train  and  goes  in  town. 
He  goes  to  his  bookstore  just  as  his  father  goes  to  his 
Homer,  and  there  he  and  one  clerk  doze  all  day. 
Sometimes  they  sell  two  books  a  week.  That  is,  I 
fancy  so.  Nobody  tells  me.  If  I  ask  Brice,  he  looks 
owlish  again  and  says  he  has  n't  seen  the  account  for 
the  month.  We  could  n't  live  if  Natalie  did  n't  stay 
/vith  us  and  pay  her  board." 

"  Ah,  she  's  his  cousin  !  " 


8  THE  MANNERINGS 

"  She  's  a  Mannering,  yes  —  a  sort  of  thirtieth 
cousin.  He  had  charge  of  her  property ;  so  she 
drifted  into  living  with  us.  She  might  not  stay  if  it 
were  n't  for  Richard  Home." 

"  Richard  Home  ?     Do  I  know  him  ?  " 

"  Gilbert's  nephew.  He 's  down  here  off  and  on 
with  his  %  uncle, —  he's  a  journalist  in  town,  —  and 
Natalie  's  engaged  to  him." 

"  Ah !  " 

"  It 's  a  case  of  long  standing,  ever  so  many  years 
now.  Richard  is  a  queer,  fascinating  fellow,  musical, 
artistic,  with  wild  blood  in  him.  He  gets  a  gilt-edged 
position,  works  like  a  horse,  throws  over  the  whole 
thing  and  runs  amuck,  to  Europe,  to  the  Andes,  and 
then  comes  back  and  begins  all  over.  Natalie  waits 
for  him  and  waters  her  plants.  They  seem  to  be  per 
fectly  satisfied." 

"  So  he  lives  with  his  uncle  ?  " 

"  No,  he  lives  in  town,  but  he  's  always  running 
down  here.  I  wrote  you  about  Gilbert  Home  ?  " 

"  Yes."  There  was  a  curious  restraint  in  Elinor's 
air.  With  Gilbert  Home's  name  a  new  note  had 
throbbed  into  Katharine's  voice.  Each  woman  had 
gained  a  certain  intensity,  though  not  of  a  kind  to  be 
shared.  They  seemed  to  be  speaking  from  a  back 
ground  of  reminiscence  all  their  own. 

"  Gilbert  Home  is  free  at  last.  I  don't  know 
whether  you  remember,  but  his  mother  was  half  in 
sane,  and  he  took  care  of  her  in  his  own  house." 

"  His  stepmother."  Elinor  corrected  her  deli 
cately. 

"  Yes,  of  course ;  but  we  always  called  her  his  mo 
ther.  No  other  man  would  have  done  it,  no  man  I 


ON  EDGCOMBE   HILL  9 

ever  saw.  It  ought  to  have  sapped  his  life  as  well  as 
ruined  his  prospects ;  but  it 's  only  made  him  silent. 
I  don't  remember  how  well  you  knew  him." 

"  I  did  n't  know  him  long." 

"  It  was  that  last  summer  you  came  here,  was  n't 
it  ?  Mrs.  Home  must  have  been  losing  her  mind  just 
about  that  time.  She  made  him  promise  not  to  send 
her  away.  He  kept  his  word,  and  she  's  eaten  up  his 
life.  But  she  died  last  April.  He  was  going  West, 
but  he  suddenly  decided  to  put  it  off." 

"  You  wrote  me  he  was  going.  You  said  he  would 
be  gone  the  first  of  the  month." 

"  Did  I  ?  Well,  he  changed  his  mind.  Here  we 
are.  There  's  the  old  house.  Remember  it  ?  " 

Elinor  leaned  forward  a  little  as  they  rose  over 
the  crest  of  the  hill,  and  her  lips  parted  as  if  they 
took  in  something  eagerly  desired.  The  Manner  ing 
house,  a  great  colonial  mansion  distorted  by  comely 
additions,  stood  on  the  southwestern  slope  of  Edg- 
combe  Hill,  where  it  had  breathing  space,  an  ampli 
tude  of  light  and  air,  and  yet  where  no  harsh  wind 
could  beat  upon  it.  The  hill  hesitated  a  little  before 
descending  in  a  wide  plateau  of  fertile  fields.  The 
house  was  approached  by  a  driveway  from  the  road. 
Evergreens  stood  in  front  of  it,  but  not  so  near  as  to 
darken  the  windows  in  winter  or  to  give  too  hot  a 
breath  in  summer  time.  An  orchard  lay  at  the  side, 
and  across  its  breadth  spanned  by  a  little  path  stood 
Gilbert  Home's  house,  smaller  than  this,  untouched  in 
its  old  proportions,  and  reaching  the  road  by  a  nave- 
like  avenue  of  elms. 

"  I  remember,"  breathed  Elinor.  "  I  remember  !  " 
But  she  was  looking  not  at  the  sweep  of  land  below 


10  THE  MANNERINGS 

where  the  lake  lies,  a  gleam  in  summer  and  a  blank 
in  winter,  or  at  the  line  of  poplars  that  came  walking 
over  the  windy  hill.  Gilbert  Home's  house  seemed 
to  be  smiling  back  at  her  through  the  lacelike  winter 
trees. 

They  had  turned  into  the  driveway  and  Elinor 
recalled  herself  from  musing,  to  put  on  the  air  of 
accessible  human  courtesy. 

"  There  they  are,"  said  Katharine.  "  The  captain 
will  kiss  your  hand.  Brice  will  act  as  if  he  wanted 
to,  but  he  won't  venture  for  another  decade.  I  've 
trained  him  excellently,  dear.  He  can  do  no  end  of 
tricks  automatically.  He  won't  do  them  for  me,  but 
he  does  for  other  women." 

The  front  door  opened  as  they  stopped  at  the  ve 
randa  steps,  Mack  with  a  final  fling  of  his  head,  and 
two  men  came  out,  strikingly  alike  in  spite  of  thirty 
years  between  them.  At  first  glance  they  were  re 
markably  handsome,  each  dowered  with  a  secondary 
lustre  through  the  other's  presence,  as  three  pretty 
girls  are  ten  times  as  pretty  as  two,  bearing  with 
them,  like  a  banner,  the  challenge  of  their  sex.  Both 
had  dark  eyes  and  trim  pointed  beards,  though  the 
younger  man  was  black  as  to  his  beard  and  hair  and 
the  captain  had  turned  magnificently  white.  His  hair 
was  aggressive  in  its  silver  beauty.  It  created,  with 
the  aid  of  his  fine  black  brows,  a  delusive  distinction. 
They  both  carried  themselves  well,  and  their  hands 
were  notably  fine. 

The  younger  man  hurried  down  the  steps  while  his 
father  stood  above,  expectant. 

"  At  last !  "  said  Brice  Mannering,  giving  Elinor 
his  hand  and  helping  her  from  the  sleigh.  "  This  is 


ON   EDGCOMBE   HILL  11 

delightful !  How  do  you  find  yourself?  "  He  seemed 
to  pass  her  to  his  father  up  the  steps,  while  he  turned 
to  meet  Katharine,  and  the  old  gentleman,  accord 
ing  to  prophecy,  bent  gallantly  and  kissed  her  glove. 
John  Henry,  the  hired  man,  appeared  and  walked 
away  with  Mack  to  the  barn,  and  Katharine  ran  up 
the  steps,  tossing  the  robe  at  her  husband  as  she  went. 
She  was  at  once  buoyantly  gay.  She  had  got  what 
she  wanted ;  after  long  dearth,  here  was  her  Elinor. 

"  There,  Nell !  "  she  said,  as  they  went  together 
into  the  broad  hall.  "  You  are  at  home." 

"  The  Spaniards,  I  believe,  have  a  custom,"  -  -  began 
the  old  man,  with  the  air  of  telling  an  after-dinner 
story.  But  no  one  save  Brice  seemed  to  hear  him, 
and  he  went  into  the  house  finishing  it  with  an  air  of 
great  exactness. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Katharine  as  she  was  taking  off  Eli 
nor's  cloak.  "  Here 's  Natalie." 

A  girl  was  coming  down  the  broad,  old-fashioned 
stairs.  Elinor  looked  up  at  her  and  breathed  a  little 
sound  of  pleasure  mixed  with  wonder.  It  was  a  vision 
not  so  much  of  definite  loveliness  as  of  those  sug 
gested  beauties  that  enchain  the  soul.  Natalie  was 
slender  almost  to  a  fault,  with  the  small  arms  of  un 
developed  creatures,  and  their  motions.  In  color  she 
had  a  curious  likeness  to  Katharine,  yet  in  complete 
effect  that  kinship  failed.  Her  face  was  delicate  and 
thin,  her  mouth  a  lovely  line  of  curves  ending  in 
dented  corners,  and  her  hair  the  same  red  glory  of 
Katharine's,  save  that  it  curled,  full  of  life,  and  broke 
into  little  spirals.  But  her  eyes  were  not  the  brown 
eyes  of  the  red  ;  they  were  gray,  deepening  to  dark 
ness  and  showing  gleams  of  yellow  and  then  green. 


12  THE  MANNERINGS 

They  lay  like  jewels  under  their  dark  lashes,  and  she 
used  them  honestly.  She  wore  a  white  dress  that  hung 
in  simple  folds  held  by  a  golden  girdle.  Her  bare 
neck  showed  the  lovely  hollows  of  girlhood,  and  on 
her  arms  were  barbaric  bracelets  that  fell  down  to  the 
hand  and  had  to  be  incessantly  pushed  up  again. 

"  Here  's  Natalie,"  said  Katharine,  and  Elinor  an 
swered,  under  her  breath,  so  that  only  Katharine 
heard, — 

"  The  blessed  damozel !  " 

As  Natalie  reached  the  lower  stair,  the  guest  stepped 
forward  and  they  clasped  hands,  Natalie  smiling  a  lit 
tle  in  a  courteous  welcome,  but  evidently  not  caring 
very  much  who  went  or  came.  Katharine  looked  at 
the  white  dress  and  nodded. 

"  So  Richard  's  coming  !  "  she  said. 

"  Yes,"  returned  Natalie  indifferently,  "  Dick  is 
coming."  She  had  a  low  voice  consistent  with  her 
look.  It  promised  some  intensity. 

"  Come,  Elinor,"  said  Katharine,  "  I  '11  take  you  to 
your  room.  I  've  been  getting  it  ready  for  a  week 
You  can  see  your  face  in  it." 


II 

A   LETTER   FROM   LORRAINE 

WHEN  the  women  had  gone  upstairs,  Mannering 
and  his  father  went  into  the  library  at  the  right  of 
the  front  door  and  established  themselves,  each  in  a 
wellworn  chair  with  individual  hollows  in  it  as  if  the 
same  person  had  sat  there  a  great  deal.  The  old 
gentleman  took  up  an  ancient  looking  book  from  the 
table,  opened  it  on  his  knee,  and  stared  for  a  mo 
ment  at  the  fire.  Then,  still  holding  the  book,  he 
dropped  off  to  sleep.  Brice  read  the  evening  paper, 
solicitously  making  no  noise  and  glancing  at  his  father 
from  time  to  time,  with  a  careful  interest.  The  room 
was  pervaded  by  a  twilight  stillness.  Everything  in 
it  was  worn,  yet  it  had  comfort  of  a  homely  sort.  The 
long  windows,  reaching  to  the  floor,  opened  on  the 
veranda  and  the  outer  space  of  evergreens  and  snowy 
ground.  There  was  no  great  pretense  of  books,  yet 
there  were  enough  to  please  the  eye  and  justify  the 
mind  in  sinking  into  that  peace  known  only  in  rooms 
where  books  have  lived.  The  walls  were  hung  with 
dull  red  paper,  and  on  the  table  in  front  of  the  fire 
was  a  lamp,  brilliant  with  daily  care.  This  room  was 
a  consistent  bit  of  the  whole  house,  where  ancient  fur 
niture  bespoke  prosperity,  and  everything  bore  the  air 
of  having  been  used  in  the  daily  habit  of  life.  Oppo 
site,  across  the  wide  hall  where  the  staircase  descended, 


14  THE   MANNERINGS 

was  a  room  of  identical  size  furnished  similarly,  though 
without  the  books.  It  looked  out  on  the  orchard  and 
over  to  the  yellow  wall  of  the  Home  house ;  and 
behind  it  was  the  dining-room,  rather  severe  in  its 
dark  walls  and  solid  chairs  and  table,  but  with  the 
fire  leaping  and  gleaming  on  the  hearth.  John  Henry, 
the  hired  man,  said  the  Mannerings  burned  "  a  sight 
o'  wood."  Here  at  least  all  the  members  of  the  house 
hold  were  moved  by  an  according  aim.  Katharine  had 
a  willful  recklessness  in  using  the  goods  of  life.  She 
wanted  abundance  everywhere  and  enough  to  waste  ; 
and  the  others,  save  Natalie,  were  keen  upon  the  scent 
of  daily  comfort. 

The  hour  before  dinner  drowsed  sleepily  away,  and 
the  two  men  drowsed  with  it  in  a  mental  apathy.  The 
clock  struck,  and  the  women  came  down  the  stairs 
with  a  pleasant  rustling  and  a  hint  of  fragrance  that 
was  none  at  all.  The  men  came  to  themselves  with  a 
start  —  it  coidd  hardly  be  called  waking  —  and  went 
into  the  hall  to  meet  them.  A  stranger  glancing  at 
them  would  have  been  struck  by  the  exceeding  good 
looks  of  the  little  assembly.  Natalie  in  her  white  and 
gold,  her  poetic  suggestion  of  something  more  thrill 
ing  than  beauty,  was  in  strong  contrast  with  Katha 
rine,  who  had  not  dressed  for  dinner,  but  who  made  up 
for  outer  circumstance  by  the  vividness  of  her  great 
pleasure.  Her  eyes  were  dark  with  it,  her  cheeks 
held  a  deeper  tinge.  She  wore  a  blue  cloth  dress, 
with  a  white  collar  and  bands  of  fur.  It  fitted  snugly 
and  disclosed  a  figure  adapted  to  all  sweet  and  homely 
uses.  She  looked  like  a  Diana  grown  to  middle  age 
without  losing  strength  or  grace.  Elinor,  in  her  trav 
eling  dress  by  Katharine's  order,  bore  her  years  with 


A  LETTER  FROM  LORRAINE  15 

a  difference.  She  had  carried  her  girlish  lines  into 
womanhood.  She  was  gracious  in  a  delicate  way,  with 
the  charm  that  eludes  and  then  returns  to  beckon. 

As  they  turned  toward  the  dining-room,  the  front 
door  opened,  and  a  young  man  walked  in  on  them. 
He  brought  a  great  draught  of  cold  air,  and  the  fresh 
ness  that  hangs  about  the  traveler  in  winter  weather. 

"  Richard !  "  said  Katharine,  pausing  in  an  impul 
sive  welcome.  "  Glad  to  see  you." 

Natalie  stood  waiting  while  he  was  presented  to  the 
guest.  He  turned  to  her.  She  had  grown  vivid  in 
a  way  that  had  brought  the  blood  to  his  heart  when 
he  first  noted  it  years  ago.  Now  he  was  used  to  it. 
It  meant  not  so  much  a  mood  as  Natalie.  But  she 
nodded  at  him  in  a  fashion  betokening  comradeship, 
and  gave  him  a  careless  hand.  Then  while  they  sat 
down  at  the  table,  he  took  off  his  coat  in  the  hall,  and 
presently  came  in  to  his  waiting  place.  Seating  him 
self,  he  looked  round  at  them  with  an  inclusive  smile. 
He  was  pleased  with  them  all,  with  life  and  the  cir 
cumstances  where  he  found  himself,  and  every  one,  in 
the  simple,  responsive  way  of  human  creatures  chal 
lenged  by  vitality,  was  pleased  with  him.  He  sat  be 
side  Natalie,  and,  taking  his  napkin,  he  gave  her  hand 
lying  on  the  table  a  touch  of  light  good  fellowship. 
She  took  no  notice  of  him,  but  she  looked  at  the  hand 
in  a  curious,  impersonal  way,  and  a  new  meaning  came 
into  her  face.  Richard  was  a  tall,  close-knit  fellow  with 
a  head  beautifully  carried.  It  was  rather  small  for  his 
size,  and  with  his  hands,  fine  as  those  of  a  woman, 
gave  him  an  air  of  distinction.  His  features  were  cut 
with  a  good  bold  dash,  his  blue  eyes  were  merry,  and 
the  close  mustache  adorned  a  frankly  genial  mouth. 


16  THE  MANNERINGS 

"  Have  you  been  to  Greece  ?  "  the  captain  was  say 
ing,  with  a  deferential  bow  toward  Elinor. 

Brice  was  carving  chicken,  and  Katharine  watched 
him  impatiently,  anticipating  certain  false  moves  she 
knew  by  heart. 

"  No,"  returned  Elinor,  with  a  pretty  deference, 
"no;  we  traveled  very  little.  France  suited  my  father. 
We  spent  a  great  deal  of  time  in  the  French  country 
about  Tours.  Then  we  went  into  Italy,  high  up 
among  the  Apennines." 

The  old  gentleman  had  received  his  plate  containing 
a  carefully  selected  portion  and  was  regarding  it  with 
expectance. 

"  Greece  has  always  had  a  peculiar  interest  for  me," 
he  said,  in  his  fragmentary  manner.  "Yes  —  ah  — 
Greece  !  My  studies,  all  my  reading,  have  led  me  in 
that  direction." 

"  Father,  you  know,"  interposed  Brice,  with  an  ex 
planatory  smile,  —  "  father  is  a  great  student  of  the 
classics." 

"I  know;  I  remember,"  said  Elinor.  Katharine, 
she  felt,  was  mentally  prophesying  the  advent  of  the 
gray-eyed  Pallas. 

"My  studies  have  led  me  in  that  direction,"  re 
peated  the  old  gentleman,  contemplating  his  chicken 
in  a  detached  yet  amorous  manner.  He  seemed  to  be 
perpetually  ignoring  crude  indulgences  in  favor  of 
high  thinking,  and  yet  to  be  at  the  same  time  lost  in 
absent  worship  of  them.  "  I  have  not  relinquished 
my  hope  of  seeing  Greece." 

"  Father  and  I  intend  to  see  it  together,"  added 
Brice,  in  a  prompt  corroboration. 

"  There  is  no  richer  field  in  the  world,"  asserted 


A  LETTER  FROM  LORRAINE  17 

the  old  man,  with  a  tolerant  smile  at  his  son ;  i4  Greek 
antiquities,  Greek  literature,  Greek  mythology !  The 
gods,  now  —  what  should  you  say  of  Pallas  —  Minerva, 
you  know  —  Athene  —  quite  the  same  thing  —  should 
you  say  she  had  blue  eyes  or  gray?" 

Elinor  realized  that  all  eyes  were  upon  her,  Kath 
arine's  kindling  with  a  mirth  duteously  suppressed. 

44 1  never  thought  of  it,  Captain  Mannering,"  she 
answered.  "  I  know  so  very  little  about  the  classics." 

"  A  wide  field,  my  dear  Miss  Thayer,  a  wide  and 
very  fertile  field."  The  captain  had  sent  back  his 
plate  for  dressing.  He  put  his  finger  tips  together 
in  the  familiar  attitude  of  men  who  prose  by  habit. 
"  About  the  eyes  of  Pallas,  it  seems  to  be  a  disputed 
point.  The  gray-eyed  Pallas,  the  gray-eyed  maid  — 
Chapman,  I  believe,  says  the  gray-eyed  maid.  A  very 
little  of  the  dressing,  Brice,  and  —  ah,  is  that  the  oys 
ter  ?  Thank  you.  If  no  one  else  cares  for  it !  A 
favorite  bit  with  many  —  but  if  no  one  cares  !  As  I 
was  saying,  gray  or  blue,  blue  or  gray  "  — 

He  seemed  to  be  wandering  into  an  intermediate 
ground  where  neither  chicken  nor  Pallas  could  hold 
him,  and  his  son  leaned  forward  recalling  him  by 
glance  and  tone. 

44  You  were  speaking  of  Pallas,  father,"  he  prompted 
him.  44 1  fancy  the  term  refers  to  expression,  not  to 
color." 

44  Ah,  yes,  yes !  that  was  what  I  was  about  to  say," 
continued  the  old  man,  pinning  himself  with  a  visible 
effort  to  the  subject  in  hand.  44  The  primary  mean 
ing  is  flashing,  gleaming,  bright."  He  repeated  the 
qualifying  words  like  a  schoolboy  who  has  learned 
something  with  difficulty  and  can  only  be  at  ease  after 


18  THE  MANNERINGS 

he  has  recited  it.  Then,  as  if  the  topic  were  ade 
quately  closed,  he  devoted  himself  to  his  plate. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  bring  your  uncle  over  to  din 
ner  ?  "  asked  Katharine  of  Richard. 

"  He  would  n't  come.  I  left  him  eating  his  solitary 
bun  and  reading  a  book." 

Brice  Mannering  never  forgot  the  conventional 
platitude. 

"  Glad  to  see  him  at  any  time,"  he  remarked ;  and 
Richard  continued,  — 

"  He  would  n't  come  himself  and  he  forbade  me. 
He  told  me  you  had  company ;  so  I  came.  I  had  to 
see  Miss  Thayer."  He  smiled  at  Elinor  as  he  used 
her  name,  in  a  sudden,  fascinating  way  he  had,  and 
she  looked  at  him  now  so  inquiringly  that  he  asked, 
"  Do  you  know  my  uncle  ?  " 

"  I  knew  him  once,"  she  replied,  in  a  low  tone,  "  a 
long  time  ago." 

"  I  asked  him,  and  he  said  you  were  Mrs.  Mannering's 
friend.  Evidently  I  was  meant  to  forsake  the  house 
until  you  and  Mrs.  Mannering  had  foregathered." 

"  We  're  going  snowshoeing  when  the  moon  is  up," 
said  Katharine.  "  He  promised,  Sunday.  That  was 
before  I  knew  Elinor  would  be  here.  But  of  course 
we're  going." 

"  Well,  he  's  no  idea  of  it,"  said  Richard.  "  We  '11 
run  over  when  it 's  time,  and  rout  him  out.  Are  you 
going,  sister  ?  "  This  was  to  Natalie,  who  sat  regard 
ing  the  window  opposite  her  in  evident  indifference  to 
the  talk.  Yet  she  heard,  she  noted,  and  carried  on  an 
unspoken  commentary  of  her  own. 

"  Yes,  brother,  I  'm  going,"  she  answered  without 
glancing  at  him. 


A  LETTER  FROM   LORRAINE  19 

"  In  these  togs  ?     How  nice  you  look  !  " 

"  Not  in  these  togs.  I  don't  look  nice.  I  look  cold. 
Cousin  Katharine,  may  somebody  poke  the  fire  ?  " 

Eichard  sprang  from  his  chair  with  an  apology  to 
Katharine,  and  hammered  away  at  the  logs  until  the 
sparks  flew  up  the  chimney  and  the  flames  followed 
them,  roaring.  There  was  a  little  courteous  commo 
tion,  the  old  gentleman  insisting  upon  Natalie's  taking 
his  place  because  it  was  warmer,  and  yet  not  moving, 
and  she  refusing  in  a  way  to  match. 

"  There  's  a  blue  scarf  in  the  library,"  she  suggested 
to  Richard  when  he  left  the  fire,  and  he  went  to  fetch 
it.  When  he  came  back  with  it,  a  billowing  tissue,  he 
dropped  it  on  her  shoulders,  and  she  glowed  under  it. 

"  You  change  color  like  a  lizard,"  he  said  to  her, 
taking  his  seat.  "  Your  eyes  are  different  the  minute 
you  put  on  blue." 

"  It  is  n't  a  lizard,  it 's  a  chameleon,"  returned  Nat 
alie,  while  the  others  were  talking. 

"  A  chameleon  's  a  lizard.  I  shall  call  you  a  chame 
leon  if  I  want  to." 

"  You  're  rude,"  said  Natalie  calmly. 

When  they  rose  from  the  table,  Richard  said  to 
Katharine,  — 

"  May  I  go  upstairs  and  look  at  Natalie's  flowers  ?  " 

"  Goose  !  "  Katharine  was  laughing  at  the  door,  an 
arm,  girl  fashion,  about  Elinor's  waist.  "  Ask  Natalie." 

"  She  's  vicious  to-night ! "  He  shot  a  glance  at 
Natalie  standing  by  the  fire. 

"  Then  I  can't  help  you." 

"  May  I,  Natalie  ?  "     He  coaxed  like  a  boy. 

"  They  're  not  very  pretty  now,"  she  answered.  "  I 
cut  a  lot  of  them  to-day." 


20  THE  MANNERINGS 

He  looked  at  her  again  like  a  boy  willfully  bent  on 
mischief,  and  then  ran  whistling  up  the  stairs.  Nat 
alie  stood  by  the  fire  for  a  moment  after  the  others 
had  left  the  room,  her  pretty  foot  tapping  the  bricks. 
Presently  she  walked  about  a  little  in  a  feline  fashion, 
uneasiness  upon  her,  and  finding  herself  near  the  door 
went  out  into  the  hall  and  upstairs  also.  She  seemed 
to  be  drawn  by  an  irresistible  mandate,  upon  her  lover's 
steps.  It  made  her  angry  to  be  so  constrained,  not 
angry  with  him  but  with  herself ;  and  there  were  bright 
spots  of  color  on  her  cheeks  when  she  entered  the  room 
above.  This  obedience  was  a  sweet  servitude  she  had 
once  been  glad  to  follow.  Now  she  fought  against  it 
for  the  sake  of  his  freedom,  not  her  own. 

This  was  her  sitting-room,  painted  in  white  and 
papered  with  garlanded  flowers.  Muslin  curtains  hung 
at  the  windows.  The  carpet  was  moss  green.  A  green 
velvet  divan  followed  the  walls,  and  the  air  was  warm 
with  fragrance.  Natalie  heard  admiring  talk,  from 
time  to  time,  about  her  magical  gardening.  Richard 
thought  it  one  of  her  pretty  ways  to  busy  herself  in 
such  tendance,  not  knowing  she  had  the  flowers  only 
because  he  took  pleasure  in  them.  He  was  by  the 
window  when  she  went  in,  smelling  the  bitter  jonquils, 
saturating  himself  with  them,  moved  by  them  in  a  way 
Natalie  knew.  She  stood  by  the  fire  and  trembled 
with  love  of  him.  He  was  a  perfectly  healthy  animal, 
with  nerves  responsive  to  sensuous  joys.  No  wind 
could  blow  from  any  corner  without  moving  him  to 
some  vibration.  He  felt  the  keenness  of  life  in  a  way 
that  would  have  been  disheartening  if  his  swift  blood 
had  not  kept  him  well  poised  and  healthy.  Yet  he 
lived  without  speculating  upon  the  effect  things  had  on 


A   LETTER   FROM  LORRAINE  21 

him.  He  only  knew  the  world  was  a  place  where  he 
enjoyed  acutely,  and  where  it  was  the  part  of  a  wise 
man  to  avoid  pain.  There  were  premonitions  of  pain 
sometimes,  savage  denial  of  savage  joys,  and  he  took 
them  doggedly.  To  his  own  mind  he  was  an  unclassi 
fied  force  tossed  here  and  there  by  varying  breezes. 
He  made  no  pretense  of  understanding  himself ;  yet  he 
had  a  child's  trust  that  Natalie  understood.  He  left 
the  flowers  and  came  to  her  by  the  fire.  He  put  out 
both  hands  and  she  placed  hers  within  them  with  a 
disarming  frankness ;  but  when  he  drew  her  gently 
toward  him,  she  threw  back  her  head  and  smiled  at 
him.  So  she  dominated  him,  and  slew  the  tenderness 
she  loved. 

"  You  look  very  nice,"  he  said. 

His  utterance  had  quickened,  his  eyes  were  dark. 
Such  intensity  was  a  stranger,  a  visitant  from  old  days 
when  it  had  waited  upon  her  constantly.  But  she 
would  not  accept  it  when  it  came  like  this,  the  unher 
alded  offspring  of  the  moment. 

"  I  look  like  a  zany,"  said  she,  "  beside  cousin 
Katharine  and  Miss  Thayer  in  their  street  dress." 

"  She 's  a  sweet  lady." 

"  Miss  Thayer  ?     Yes,  she  is  a  sweet  lady." 

She  drew  her  hands  away  and  motioned  him  to  a 
chair.  It  was  a  wide  one,  comfortably  cushioned.  It 
had  been  drawn  up  before  the  fire  as  if  its  occupant 
were  expected.  Her  own  little  stool  was  near.  She 
longed  to  take  it,  and  lean  her  head  against  his  knee. 
But  she  had  forsworn  that,  and  wisdom  counseled  her 
to  remember  how  many  times  she  had  sworn  and  then 
forgotten.  Richard  sat  there  for  several  minutes  not 
noticing  even  that  she  stood.  He  looked  into  the  fire, 


22  THE   MANNERINGS 

and  his  face  dropped  into  a  sadness  foreign  to  its  gay 
simplicity. 

"  I  had  a  letter  from  Lorraine  to-day,"  he  began  at 
last,  in  a  low  tone.  Natalie  walked  round  behind  him 
and  stood  there  for  a  second,  to  hide  her  betraying 
face.  Then  she  came  back,  threw  a  stick  of  wood  on 
the  fire,  and  drew  up  another  chair.  The  fire  caught 
at  the  stick,  licked  it  greedily,  and  burst  into  flame. 

"  What  did  Lorraine  say  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  It  was  a  queer  letter.  She  never  uses  your  name, 
Natalie.  She  always  says  '  my  sister ' !  " 

"  Ah,  well !  that 's  natural.  What  did  she  have  to 
say  about  me  ?  " 

"  One  thing  —  she  had  n't  heard  from  you  for  a 
long  time." 

"  That 's  natural  enough,  too.  She  does  n't  write 
to  me." 

"  But  why  does  she  write  to  me  ?  r' 

"  God  knows !  "  returned  Natalie,  in  a  tone  of  en 
forced  lightness.  It  should  have  told  him  much.  It 
betrayed  nothing  because  his  mind  was  not  on  her,  but 
on  himself. 

"  It 's  the  queerest  state  of  things  I  ever  came 
across."  He  spoke  with  the  emphasis  we  give  to  un 
solved  problems  when,  to  vindicate  our  astuteness,  we 
dignify  the  case.  "  She  threw  me  over.  She  married 
the  other  man.  The  other  man  dies  after  those  few 
years,  and  she  with  no  pretext,  no  excuse,  begins  to 
write  to  me  again." 

"  It 's  rather  like  Lorraine,"  said  Natalie,  keeping 
a  careful  grip  on  herself. 

In  all  these  years  of  intimacy  with  another  woman's 
ghost,  she  had  held  to  the  honor  of  the  code.  She 


A   LETTER   FROM   LORRAINE  23 

had  not  betrayed  one  of  the  savage  things  in  her 
mind,  and  Richard  had  not  guessed  at  them. 

"  No,"  he  went  on  musingly,  "  Lorraine  never  was 
like  anybody  else." 

"  She  never  was !  "  the  woman's  hot  mind  longed 
to  cry  out  passionately.  "  She  never  hesitated  before 
a  barrier,  she  never  withheld  her  hand  from  theft  or 
cruelty."  But  she  said  only,  "  I  fancy  she  likes  to 
hear.  You  write  clever  letters." 

"  I  think  sometimes,"  said  Richard  in  the  same 
musing  tone,  "  that  Lorraine  has  a  kind  of  loyalty. 
She  knew  she  did  me  up  pretty  well  when  she  broke 
with  me,  and  I  believe  she  's  sorry.  Natalie,  old  girl, 
I  believe  she 's  sorry."  He  reached  out  his  hand  with 
out  looking  at  her  and  she  laid  hers  within  it.  "  Why 
you  're  still  cold,"  he  said,  and  began  to  chafe  the  fin 
gers. 

"  You  would  like  to  think  so,  would  n't  you  ?  "  she 
asked,  with  a  delusive  sweetness  in  her  voice.  "You  'd 
like  to  think  she  cared  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Richard  honestly,  "  I  'd  rather  think 
she  had  a  heart.  It  seems  as  if  Lorraine  must  have  a 
heart,  she  's  so  amiable.  She  's  not  like  anybody  else. 
Why  should  we  expect  the  same  things  of  her  ?  " 

"  We  should  n't,"  agreed  Natalie  ;  "  no  !  "  But 
she  drew  away  her  hand,  and  folded  it  upon  the  other 
across  her  knees.  "  Did  she  say  anything  about 
grandmother  ?  " 

"  Yes,  they  're  still  traveling.  Lorraine  must  lead 
her  a  dance.  She  never  could  be  still,  —  Lorraine. 
She  wanted  life,  life." 

"  So  do  I,"  whispered  Natalie's  imprisoned  self,  "  I 
want  life,  life." 


24  THE  MANNERINGS 

"  And  it 's  extraordinary  how  she  manages  that  old 
woman.  Your  grandmother  is  invincible,  just  like 
Lorraine.  Yet  Lorraine  rules  her.  She  rules  every 
body.  She  always  did." 

"  Yes,  she  always  did." 

There  was  silence  between  them,  and  the  fire,  in  its 
weaving  harmonies,  made  a  pleasant  sound. 

"  What  causes  that  ?  "  asked  Richard,  suddenly. 

«  What  ?  " 

"  How  can  one  woman  manage  every  man  she 
meets  ?  " 

"  She  may  be  a  charming  woman." 

"  Yes,  but  if  she  's  not.  If  you  pull  her  to  pieces 
and  find  she  's  riddled  with  flaws  —  not  prettier  or 
more  sweet.  But  she  makes  you  do  things.  How  does 
she  bring  it  about  ?  " 

"  Sometimes "  -  she  hesitated,  and  then  defiant 
truth  constrained  her,  —  "  sometimes  it  is  because  she 
does  n't  care." 

"Care  for  what?" 

"  For  the  man.  If  she  loves  herself  most,  she  can 
manage  him.  If  she  loves  him "  —  Something 
caught  her  in  the  throat,  and  she  was  silent. 

Richard  looked  at  her.  For  a  moment  he  felt  a 
fragment  of  the  wonder  he  expended  on  Lorraine. 
Immediately  he  put  it  aside.  There  was  nothing  about 
Natalie  to  misunderstand. 

"  Maybe  you  're  right."  He  spoke  rather  sadly 
and  with  a  touching  gentleness.  "  No,  I  don't  believe 
she  cared." 

Natalie  came  to  her  feet  with  the  air  of  brushing 
aside  that  argument  and  addressing  herself  to  other 
things. 


A  LETTER  FROM   LORRAINE  25 

"  I  must  change  my  gown,"  she  told  him.  "  The 
moon  is  up  and  they  '11  be  off  without  us." 

"  Natalie !  "  came  Katharine's  voice  from  below 
stairs.  "  Children,  where  are  you  ?  It 's  almost 
time." 

"  Kun  down,"  said  Natalie.  "  Keep  them  talking 
while  I  dress." 

When  he  had  reached  the  door,  she  was  still  watch 
ing  him.  In  spite  of  herself  she  called  him. 

"  Richard  !  "  she  cried,  in  a  smothered  tone. 

He  turned  with  an  answering  query,  and  she  flitted 
toward  him  softly  as  a  shadow.  She  put  her  arms  to 
his  shoulders  and  her  mouth  to  his.  It  was  not  like 
a  maiden,  but  a  wife.  "  Sweetheart !  "  she  whispered 
sharply  three  times,  "  good-by !  "  Then  before  his 
arms  could  hold  her,  she  was  gone  as  wraithlike  as 
she  came. 

"  Natalie ! "  he  called,  choked  with  his  own  re 
sponse  ;  but  she  was  across  the  sill  of  her  bedroom 
and  the  door  was  closed. 


Ill 

THE     HOUSE    IN    THE   WOODS 

THEY  were  all  waiting  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs 
when  Natalie  appeared  in  her  short  skirt  and  jacket 
and  her  high  boots.  Furs  were  close  around  her 
throat,  and  the  fur  line  about  her  cap  came  low  upon 
the  bright  hair.  She  seemed  to  have  imprisoned  her 
self  so,  and  the  glimpse  of  face  between  looked  pale 
and  cold.  She  was  pulling  at  her  glove,  and  she 
looked  at  that  and  not  at  them. 

"  Hurry !  "  cried  Richard,  though  for  no  reason. 
He  was  recalling  the  moment  before.  It  had  sug 
gested  some  passion  he  remembered  as  a  part  of  her, 
and  he  pondered  over  its  withdrawal. 

"  You  are  not  going  ? "  asked  Elinor,  turning  to 
Mannering  where  he  stood,  smilingly  expansive,  his 
newspaper  in  hand,  by  his  father's  side. 

"Not  to-night !  "  he  said  ;  "  another  night !  " 

Katharine  was  looking  at  him  with  light  specula 
tion  in  her  eyes.  She  knew  all  these  feints  at  action 
and  withdrawal  before  the  leap.  They  had  ceased  to 
interest  her  ;  but  she  was  wondering,  with  a  momen 
tary  curiosity,  how  they  would  strike  Elinor. 

"  Come  on,"  she  said.  "  We  '11  take  the  orchard 
path." 

They  went  single  file  along  the  narrow  track,  bend 
ing  their  heads  at  times  in  obeisance  to  some  lowered 


THE   HOUSE   IN   THE    WOODS  27 

bough.  Elinor  remembered  the  orchard  as  it  was  in 
summer  time.  The  trees  were  old,  and  yet  fruitful 
as  in  their  first  estate.  The  trunks  were  of  a  great 
girth  for  apple-trees,  and  now  black  against  the  snow. 
These  were  ancient  high-tops.  They  spread  lavishly 
above,  and  the  lower  branches  courted  the  ground. 
Sweet  shade  in  summer  lived  in  this  orchard,  —  dark 
coverts  with  green  boughs  near  the  face ;  and  now 
it  did  so  assert  its  strength  of  growth  and  fruitful- 
ness  that  it  looked  enormous,  as  if  it  held  long,  outer 
reaches.  Elinor  recalled  its  odors  in  May  and  the 
humming  of  bees  there  ;  she  saw  herself  and  Katha 
rine  walking  up  and  down  the  bough-broken  stillness 
on  June  evenings,  talking  of  what  they  thought  they 
wanted  life  to  be.  She  seemed  to  be  dwelling  in  a 
different  season,  all  sun  and  flowers ;  but  in  a  moment 
she  came  out  of  her  dream  into  another  where  the 
moonlight  lay  without  on  glittering  snow,  and  inside 
the  orchard  the  trees  were  inky. 

Kichard,  carrying  the  snowshoes,  had  been  last  in 
the  way ;  but  as  they  reached  the  garden  beside  the 
Home  house,  he  plunged  out  into  the  drifts  and 
strode  ahead. 

"I'll  wake  old  Gil,"  he  said.  "  See  him  there  by 
the  fire,  mulling  over  a  book.  George  !  no,  he  is  n't ; 
he  's  thinking." 

They  halted  outside  the  library  window  and  held 
silence,  their  gaze  upon  the  man  within.  Richard 
looked  with  some  enjoyment,  because  they  were  play 
ing  a  trick,  Natalie  indifferently.  The  other  two 
women,  secure  in  their  own  spiritual  solitude,  showed 
each  in  the  darkness  a  betraying  face.  Katharine's 
gained  a  sudden  intensity,  as  if  it  reflected  many 


28  THE  MANNERINGS 

things  the  man  might  mean  to  her.  Elinor's  lighted 
with  an  influx  of  joy,  and  involuntarily  she  put  her 
hand  to  her  throat.  Her  heart  was  beating  hard. 

Gilbert  Home  sat  there  outlined  against  the  light, 
his  head  sunken,  his  book  upon  his  knee.  He  looked 
profoundly  sad.  Katharine,  in  the  midst  of  her  won 
der  over  it,  felt  a  pang  of  sympathy.  Elinor  sent  him, 
unwittingly,  a  vague  reproach.  He  should  have  been 
flooded  to-night,  her  unquiet  spirit  told  her,  with 
something  of  the  feeling  surging  now  on  her  and 
laving  her  to  the  lips.  Suddenly  he  stirred,  as  a  wood 
animal  quivers  at  a  sound.  He  put  up  his  head  and 
listened.  He  was  aware  of  them.  Then  he  closed 
the  book  and  tossed  it  on  the  table  ;  as  he  was  rising, 
Richard  broke  into  a  laugh.  They  tapped  on  the 
window  in  passing,  and  went  without  ceremony  in  at 
the  front  door.  He  met  them,  genially  welcoming. 

"  You  forgot,"  said  Katharine,  in  a  tone  of  neigh 
borly  unconstraint.  "  We  came  to  remind  you.  And 
here  is  Elinor  Thayer." 

The  meeting  seemed  significant  because  it  was  so 
still.  The  two  touched  hands  for  a  moment  with 
out  speaking,  and  Home  looked  at  the  newcomer's 
face  in  a  wondering  way,  as  if  she  had  walked  out  of 
his  dream.  Elinor  had  grown  paler.  Only  her  eyes 
were  alive,  and  they  included  him  without  seeking 
him.  It  had  a  curious  effect,  as  if  he  lay  in  her  field 
of  vision,  and  yet  she  dared  not  quite  confront  him 
there  for  fear  of  some  recoil. 

"  Do  you  really  want  to  go  ?  "  he  asked  Katharine. 

"  Of  course  !  "  said  Richard.  "  Get  your  shoes, 
old  Gil.  Where  are  they  ?  Here  's  your  coat." 

"  I  don't  want  that.     Give  me  my  leather  jacket." 


THE  HOUSE  IN  THE  WOODS  29 

He  buttoned  himself  into  the  jacket,  found  his  cap 
and  gloves,  and  divided  the  burden  of  the  snowshoes 
with  Kichard.  Then  he  called  into  the  kitchen,  where 
old  Sally  sat  reading  her  dream-book,  and  followed 
the  others  down  the  steps  and  into  the  road.  They 
went  down  the  hill  a  space,  to  a  gap  in  an  old  stone 
wall,  where  they  stopped  and  began  to  sort  out  the 
shoes. 

"  I  'm  afraid  I  don't  remember,"  said  Elinor,  when 
Richard  planted  a  shoe  and  bade  her  put  her  foot  on 
it.  "  It  is  years  since  I  tried  it." 

"  You  won't  find  any  trouble,"  said  Gilbert  Home. 
He  was  strapping  Katharine's  shoe.  "  You  '11  get  the 
knack  of  it  at  once.  Dick  and  I  can  help  you  at 
the  walls." 

Natalie  was  walking  back  and  forth  in  the  road 
until  her  turn  should  come,  and  Gilbert  was  ready  first 
to  help  her.  Elinor  began  essaying  little  trips  up  and 
down  the  snow  at  the  side  of  the  road,  and  presently 
they  all  filed  into  the  pasture,  Gilbert  keeping  beside 
her.  They  climbed  a  knoll  topped  by  a  covert  of 
pines,  and  descended  into  the  smooth  splendor  of  moon 
lit  fields.  Elinor  at  once  found  the  trick  of  walking, 
and  grew  merry  over  it.  Her  spirits  woke.  Some 
thing  dormant  came  to  life  in  her,  and  she  breathed 
the  crisp  air  and  loved  it.  As  they  struggled  up  the 
hill,  Home  dropped  behind  and  waited  for  her. 

"  This  is  a  change  for  you,"  he  began,  in  a  com 
monplace  made  moving  by  his  tone, 

"  It 's  not  like  Italy,"  she  answered.  "  I  might 
never  have  been  away." 

"  It  has  been  a  good  many  years.  You  must  be 
wonted  to  it." 


30  THE  MANNERINGS 

"  It 's  been  nine.  If  I  were  ever  to  be  wonted,  I 
ought  to  be."  Something  constrained  her  to  add, 
"  But  this  is  home."  Yet  she  would  not.  Her  spirit 
was  as  shy  as  his.  She  had  come  here  expecting  him 
to  be  gone.  He  was  here,  and  she  hardly  knew  how 
to  meet  the  unsought  destiny  of  it,  save  with  con 
straint. 

Natalie  and  Richard  were  fighting  like  furies,  ges 
ticulating,  throwing  a  hastily  made  snowball,  and 
chasing  each  other  with  circumspection,  lest  they  trip. 

"  You  're  a  cinnamon  bear !  "  called  Natalie. 

"  You  're  a  crawling,  doddering,  hard-shelled  tor 
toise  !  "  yelled  Richard. 

"  Look !  "  said  Katharine,  a  hand  on  Elinor's  arm, 
when  they  touched  the  crest  of  the  hill.  "  Talk  of 
your  Italy !  but  look !  "  The  black  and  white  of  trees 
and  snow  under  the  moonlight  were  like  the  dawning 
of  some  strange  day.  The  village  was  below,  a  line  of 
tiny  lights.  There  were  fields  of  snow  and  then  great 
wood  patches,  and  the  moonlight  came  in  a  flood. 
Elinor  was  entranced  with  the  keen  sweet  air  upon  her 
face.  She  breathed  it  with  some  inarticulate  thanks 
for  home-coming.  After  much  sorrow  and  all  the 
years,  it  seemed  like  a  divine  return. 

"  Look,  Elinor  !  "  insisted  Katharine.     "  Look  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Elinor  softly  ;  "  I  see." 

Home  was  standing  by  her  side,  silent  and  very 
near.  He,  too,  was  vitally  conscious  of  her.  This 
was  the  woman  he  had  known  briefly  in  their  youth. 
He  had  carried  the  memory  of  her  on  in  his  still  life 
to  their  maturity,  varying  with  the  years.  Sometimes 
she  had  grown  into  a  woman,  always  older  than  he 
saw  her  now;  sometimes  she  was  an  elusive  creature 


THE   HOUSE   IN  THE  WOODS  31 

compounded  of  fine  qualities  ;  but  oftenest  she  was  a 
girl  as  he  saw  her  first,  with  a  girl's  fragile  and  potent 
beauty.  He  had  hardly  looked  at  her  since  she  came 
back ;  yet  he  was  keenly  alive  to  her  as  they  stood 
there  together.  Suddenly  Katharine  turned  to  him 
with  a  question  that  for  the  last  days  had  been  often 
upon  her  lips. 

"  Have  you  given  up  Montana  ?  " 

They  were  familiar  friends,  and  yet  he  was  a  man 
whom  no  one  approached  very  closely.  The  silence 
and  the  night  had  made  her  daring ;  perhaps,  too,  that 
illusive  splendor  of  the  moon  lying  on  all  the  faces 
and  giving  them  a  softness  not  their  own.  Home 
was  surprised  for  the  moment,  but  only  because  few 
questioned  him.  "  I  shall  wait  for  Dick,"  he  said. 
"  If  he  won't  go,  I  shall  keep  on  waiting." 

"  Go  along,  little  brother,"  cried  Natalie,  tossing 
Richard  a  snow  crust ;  "  go  to  Montana." 

"  I  can't,"  he  said  as  lightly,  tossing  back  a  hand 
ful  to  hit  her  on  the  cheek.  "  Fiske  and  Bailey  are 
going  out  of  business.  I  've  told  you  that  a  million 
times.  You  see  if  I  don't  buy  them  out  and  set  up 
publishing." 

"Your  grandmother! "  scoffed  Gilbert  Home.  "  You 
%come  out  West  and  herd  cattle  with  me.  Where  do 
we  go  now,  Mrs.  Mannering  ?  " 

Elinor  answered,  — 

"  Through  the  cathedral  woods." 

"  Do  you  remember  them  ?  "  cried  Katharine  in 
delight.  "  But  they  '11  be  dark  "  - 

"  Yes,"  said  Home  gravely,  "  we  can  go."  It  was 
exactly  as  he  had  used  to  speak  to  Elinor,  in  that 
other  time  when  they  were  young. 


32  THE   MANNERINGS 

They  went  down  the  hill,  and  as  they  walked  she 
tried  to  put  away  the  thought  of  him  as  he  used  to  be, 
and  learn  to  know  him  as  he  was.  Richard  strangely 
reminded  her  of  him  as  he  had  been  in  that  tremu 
lous  time  of  young  desire.  Like  Richard,  he  had  been 
a  great,  perfect  creature,  though  without  Richard's 
easy  adjustment  to  circumstance.  He  had  been  shy, 
serious,  much  swayed  by  ideas  of  duty ;  and  now  she 
found  in  him  some  hardening  into  a  manhood  she  did 
not  understand. 

There  were  two  fields  to  cross,  and  fences  to  step 
over  before  they  came  to  the  entrance  of  the  woods. 

"  If  it  were  daylight,"  said  Katharine  to  Elinor,  as 
they  went  on  together,  "  we  should  find  all  manner  of 
little  tracks  in  the  snow,  and  maybe  Mr.  Home  would 
tell  us  what  they  are.  He  's  very  secretive  about 
such  things." 

"  But  he  prints  them." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  have  had  his  books." 

"In  Italy?" 

"  I  sent  for  them,"  said  Elinor. 

"  Mr.  Home,  do  you  hear  ?  "  called  Katharine  de 
lightedly.  "  Elinor  has  had  your  books  in  Italy." 

He  did  not  answer  for  a  moment.  Then  he  said : 
"  That  was  very  friendly.  If  I  had  known  " 

"  Of  course  !  "  said  Katharine.  "  You  would  have 
sent  them  to  her.  So  would  1." 

But  Elinor  was  supplying  the  end  of  the  sentence, 
"  If  I  had  known  you  cared  "  —  and  reflecting  that 
this  was  a  thing  he  never  did  know. 

Natalie  had  fallen  behind  with  him  and  he  was  ask 
ing  her :  — 


THE  HOUSE  IN  THE  WOODS  33 

"  You  believe  in  Montana  still,  don't  you  ?  You 
want  Dick  to  go  ?  "  He  spoke  with  the  simple  gravity 
that  marked  their  confidences.  She  could  bear  his 
talking  about  Dick,  because  he  did  it  as  if  she  had  an 
equal  right  in  him. 

"  I  want  it  very  much,  "  she  answered  quickly,  "  if 
he  wants  it." 

"  He  did,  three  weeks  ago ;  but  now  these  fellows 
have  been  at  him  about  book  publishing,  and  he  wants 
that." 

"  He  can't  do  that.     He  must  n't  borrow  money." 

"  I  could  squeeze  him  out  the  money,  if  I  thought 
it  wise,"  said  Gilbert,  "  but  I  shan't,  until  he  's  had  a 
chance  at  something  different.  Don't  you  see  how  it 
would  end  ?  He  's  a  pet  and  favorite  now.  He  dines 
with  his  superiors,  his  betters,  socially.  They  like  him 
because  he  's  clever,  because  he  dances  well  and  talks 
at  dinner." 

From  anybody  else  Natalie  would  have  resented  such 
analysis,  resented  it  hotly  with  woman's  jealous  zeal. 
But  no  one  could  be  offended  by  Home.  He  wa,s 
too  impersonal,  his  motives  were  too  clear.  He  never 
interfered  with  men  or  women,  or  was  curious  over 
them.  When  he  talked  about  them  at  all,  it  was 
with  a  grave,  sometimes  wistful  pondering  over  what 
they  demanded  of  him. 

"  It  would  be  the  same  old  life,  I  know,"  said  Nata 
lie,  —  "  the  same  old  life." 

"  Yes.  And  the  West  —  well,  perhaps  I  'm  vision 
ary  about  the  West.  I  can't  help  thinking  it 's  got 
room  in  it,  sky  spaces,  a  lot  of  air.  It  seems  as  if  it 
would  toughen  Dick,  and  show  him  values,  how  to 
take  himself,  and  all  that.  It  would  have  been  the 
making  of  me,  I  know." 


34  THE   MANNERINGS 

There  he  stopped  short,  with  that  reticence  he  had 
when  the  talk  came  near  himself.  Yet  it  was  not  so 
much  that  as  an  apparent  desire  to  shuffle  out  of  sight 
something  not  worth  consideration. 

They  had  reached  the  lower  slope  and  struck  into  a 
cart  path  not  used  of  late,  where  the  snow,  though 
thinner,  lay  still  untouched.  The  woods  on  either 
side  were  dark,  the  trees  too  close  for  more  than  va 
grant  gleams  to  penetrate.  Their  trunks  ran  straight 
and  tall,  and  the  boughs  were  vaguely  whispering. 

"Don't  hurry,"  said  Home;  "I  'm  going  ahead  to 
start  a  fire." 

"  There  's  a  hut  in  there  where  Mr.  Home  hides 
when  he  wants  to  run  away,"  Katharine  explained  to 
Elinor.     "  We  call  it  the  house  in  the  woods." 
"  I  know,"  said  Elinor. 
"  Was  it  here  in  your  day  ?  " 
"  It  was  just  built." 

They  lingered  a  little,  pointing  out  glints  of  moon 
light  through  the  pillared  aisles ;  and  when  they  came 
out  on  rising  ground  before  the  house,  Home  had 
thrown  open  the  door,  and  within  the  fire  was  roar 
ing.  It  was  a  log  cabin  on  a  knoll.  As  if  it  stood  in 
its  own  garden,  the  woods  about  it  wore  a  more  deli 
cate  look  than  the  outer  forest.  In  a  hollow  near 
the  rise,  spring  would  show  a  lighter  green,  a  finer 
tracery  of  birch  and  maple.  Tree  branches  touched 
the  windows,  without  darkening  them  too  much,  even 
in  midsummer,  and  one  great  pine  littered  the  roof 
with  needles.  Home  had  stamped  down  the  snow 
about  the  doorstone  where  they  stopped  to  leave  their 
shoes.  The  cold  air  was  rushing  into  the  cabin  and 
the  hot  air  from  the  fireplace  met  them  as  it  billowed 


THE   HOUSE   IN   THE   WOODS  35 

out.  The  fire  was  roaring  over  logs  and  through  a 
fretwork  of  pine  cones.  Home  looked  gigantic  as  he 
stood  there  in  the  light,  knocking  the  fuel  into  place, 
and  in  his  haste  gave  one  obstinate  log  a  kick  that 
sent  sparks  flying  up  the  chimney. 

"  Take  off  your  jackets,"  he  called.  "  It  '11  be  hot 
as  pepper  in  a  minute." 

Katharine  and  Natalie  obeyed  at  once,  but  Elinor, 
absently  following  their  lead,  looked  about  her  in  the 
firelight,  and  felt  again  the  strangeness  of  her  return. 
This  too  was  unchanged.  There  was  the  big  table  in 
the  middle  of  the  room  littered  with  his  books  and 
papers,  the  leather  chairs,  all  luxurious,  the  big  divan 
by  the  low  square  windows,  the  bookcase  lining  the 
wall.  To  them,  it  was  the  house  in  the  woods.  To 
her,  it  was  the  house  of  her  dreams.  Home  and  his 
nephew  were  dragging  chairs  to  the  fire,  and  when 
they  were  all  comfortably  disposed  in  them,  there  was 
silence. 

"  Is  n't  it  strange,"  said  Katharine ;  "  you  can't 
talk  down  here.  I  don't  know  why." 

"  It  is  queer,"  assented  Home ;  "  nobody  talks 
here." 

"  I  do,"  said  Eichard.  "  Uncle  Gil,  got  anything 
to  eat  ?  Crackers,  cheese  ?  Anything  to  drink  ? 
Beer?" 

"  Neither  bite  nor  sup,"  answered  Home,  without 
regret. 

"  Pig  !  "  remarked  Natalie,  incidentally,  to  Richard. 
"  You  ate  loads  of  dinner." 

"  I  'm  not  hungry,"  said  he  ;  "  but  we  're  dull. 
Food  promotes  good  fellowship.  Oh,  I  can  talk  with 
out  it,  thank  you !  Don't  you  all  want  to  know  what 


36  THE  MANNERINGS 

I  'm  going  to  do  when  I  've  bought  out  Fiske  and 
Bailey?" 

"  We  're  not  particular,"  said  Natalie. 

"  I  want  to  know,"  said  Elinor. 

"  I  '11  tell  you.  They  need  n't  listen.  I  'm  going 
to  take  a  lot  of  standard  books  that  have  n't  any  copy 
right,  and  make  magnificent  editions." 

"  You  'd  better  come  West  and  learn  to  ride  and 
shoot  straight,"  said  Home. 

"  Hark  to  that,  now  !  "  cried  Kichard  admiringly  ; 
"  listen  to  the  old  boy.  He  's  been  dreaming  of  '49. 
He  wants  to  sow  wild  oats  of  buck-jumping  and  der 
ringers." 

Home  smiled,  and  moved  uneasily  with  the  air  of 
having  cogent  reasons,  difficult  to  express.  His  argu 
ments  came  from  his  own  experience,  and  that,  though 
anybody  was  welcome  to  it,  he  could  not  formulate. 

"  I  know  the  West  well  enough,"  continued  Richard. 
"  When  it  comes  to  riding  and  shooting,  I  'm  past 
master.  Besides  when  I  cut  stick  and  go  off  into  the 
wilds,  you  whistle  me  back.  Why  do  you  want  me 
to  go  for  good  ?  " 

"  We  don't  want  you  to  go  for  fun ;  we  mean 
business,"  said  Gilbert. 

"  I  wish  I  could  go  West,"  said  Natalie  suddenly. 
"  I  wish  I  were  six  feet  tall,  and  had  a  good  horse 
under  me,  and  a  prairie  to  the  fore." 

"  That 's  propaganda,"  remarked  Richard  wisely. 
"  You  mean  I  ought  to  want  it.  You  're  pushing  me 
out  of  the  nest.  Cheep  !  cheep  !  " 

"  It 's  not  propaganda.     I  do  wish  it." 

"  Not  you.  You  'd  rather  be  five  feet  four  and 
trellised  over  with  lace.  You  're  nothing  but  a 


THE  HOUSE  IN  THE  WOODS  37 

woman.  You  are,  Mrs.  Mannering  ;  you  're  a  Vi 
king,  inside.  But  Natalie !  Laws-a-massy !  Then, 
Miss  Thayer,  I  'm  going  to  discover  three  geniuses, 
and  publish  their  first  books." 

"  It  does  n't  cost  anything  to  publish,"  remarked 
Home  incidentally. 

"  Of  course  it  costs  something !  But  I  shall  borrow, 
borrow  !  I  shall  borrow  of  you." 

"  No,"  said  Home,  "  oh,  no !  " 

"I  shall  too,  uncle  Gil.  Don't  contradict  me  be 
fore  the  ladies.  Why,  how  do  you  suppose  Fiske  and 
Bailey  have  been  going  on  all  these  years,  if  there 's 
no  money  in  it  ?  " 

"  Why  are  they  going  out  ?  "  asked  Home. 

"  Why  ?  Plenty  of  reasons,  good  reasons.  Fiske 
is  offered  a  position  with  Gould  and  Green,  and  Bai 
ley  's  going  to  New  York." 

"  Well,"  concluded  Home  quietly,  "  you  go  to  Mon 
tana." 

They  sat  there  an  hour  with  occasional  slow  drop 
pings  of  talk.  Richard  grew  tired  of  the  stillness,  and 
coaxed  Natalie  out  to  climb  the  hill  half  a  mile  away. 
Then  the  others  covered  up  the  fire  and  went  home 
as  they  had  come,  and  Natalie  and  Dick,  breathless, 
overtook  them.  The  two  men  said  good  -  night  at 
the  Mannering  door,  and  hearing  the  sound  of  their 
voices,  Brice  pulled  up  the  library  curtain  and  looked 
out  at  them.  Presently  there  was  a  sound  of  a  hen's 
cluck  and  cackling,  a  strange  echo  of  summer  on  a 
snowy  night.  Elinor  looked  about,  bewildered. 

"  Hens !  "  she  said,  "  hens  !  " 

Katharine  answered  her  dryly. 

"  Not  hens  !  —  my  husband  !  Those  are  his  ac 
complishments." 


38  THE   MANNERINGS 

At  that  moment  Brice  appeared  at  the  hall  door. 
He  had  been  standing  at  the  crack,  discreetly  muffled 
against  the  cold. 

"  Is  n't  that  a  good  imitation,  Miss  Thayer  ?  "  he 
called.  "  Ever  hear  a  better  ?  I  Ve  been  sitting  up 
for  that.  I  thought  I  could  play  it  on  you." 


IV 

A   CONFIDENCE 

THAT  night  Elinor  was  sitting  by  the  fire  in  her 
own  room,  lulled  by  the  quietude  of  the  place.  At  no 
moment  of  her  stay  in  the  Old  World  had  she  felt 
such  tranquillity ;  here  was  the  earth  where  her  own 
roots  of  life  had  started.  The  great  square  chamber 
with  its  garlanded  paper  and  old  furniture,  the  fire 
light  playing  on  the  walls,  fed  her  mind  and  con 
firmed  in  it  the  certainty  that  this  was  home.  There 
was  a  knock,  and  Katharine  opened  the  door  on  the 
heels  of  her  answering  call.  Katharine  looked  as  if 
she  had  come  out  of  some  moving  experience.  Her 
eyes  were  large  and  dark.  A  vivid  red  had  risen  to 
her  cheeks.  Her  air  bespoke  a  vague  excitement. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Elinor.  She  felt  the  human 
challenge. 

"  Don't  get  up  !  "  Katharine  came  to  the  fire  and 
drew  up  another  chair.  "  Are  you  tired  ?  Could  you 
talk  for  half  an  hour  ?  " 

"  I  'm  not  tired  at  all." 

"  There  are  a  lot  of  things  I  've  got  to  tell  you." 
Katharine  spoke  simply,  and  the  glowing  of  her  face 
seemed  to  indicate  the  stress  of  past  decision  rather 
than  any  existing  clash.  She  leaned  back  in  the  low 
chair  and  stretched  her  arms  upward,  the  sleeves  drop 
ping  away  from  them  and  showing  their  beautiful 


40  THE   MANNERINGS 

length.  "  I  've  been  dying  with  impatience  for  you  to 
come.  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  things  I  don't 
mention  to  anybody  —  except  Brice.  Though  that 
does  n't  matter.  I  'm  going  to  leave  him,  Elinor. 
I  'm  going  to  be  free." 

"  Leave  him !  leave  Brice  !  " 

"  I  hope  so.  I  've  wanted  it  for  twenty  years.  I  've 
prayed  for  it  and  hoped  and  battled  ;  and  now  I  think 
it 's  coming." 

She  rose  in  an  irrepressible  joy,  and  again  stretched 
her  arms  above  her  head.  She  was  transfigured. 
Such  longing,  such  anticipation  were  in  her  face  that 
Elinor  caught  her  breath ;  the  look  told  volumes  of 
the  lean  years  gone  before. 

"  But,  Katharine  !  "  she  began,  "  but,  Kate  !  "  An 
other  thought  enlightened  her  and  she  added,  "  Then 
I  ought  not  to  be  here !  " 

"  Oh,  you  ought,  you  ought ! "  cried  Katharine. 
She  sat  down  again,  and  began  talking  with  the  same 
intensity,  like  a  child  seeking  to  convince  some  judi 
cial  mind  of  the  validity  of  its  own  way.  "  It 's  all 
quite  simple  and  commonplace.  There  won't  be  any 
tragedy.  We  shall  part  friends.  I  wish  him  well ; 
I  don't  ask  anything :  only  to  get  away  from  him." 

She  looked  as  if  she  had  already  got  away.  Big 
laboring  breaths  that  were  not  sorrow,  but  the  antici 
pation  of  the  life  that  made  such  breathing  natural 
crowded  upon  her,  and  she  would  not  conquer  them. 
They  made  her  happier.  Elinor  looked  at  her  in  lov 
ing  wonder.  The  words  were  the  words  of  a  tragedy, 
but  it  seemed  a  welcome  one,  and  she  was  amazed. 

"  I  '11  tell  you,"  said  Katharine,  answering  the  look. 
"  I  want  to  tell  you  all  about  it.  You  thought  I  was 


A  CONFIDENCE  41 

happy,  years  ago,  when  you  were  here  that  summer. 
Did  n't  you  think  I  was  happy  ?  " 

"  I  thought  you  were  fond  of  Brice." 

"  I  never  was.  Not  for  one  day  nor  hour  after  the 
first.  I  was  only  bewildered.  I  was  trying  to  fit  life 
—  my  life  —  to  what  I  thought  it  ought  to  be." 

"  But  you  were  in  love  with  him." 

Katharine  threw  out  her  hands  with  a  gesture  of 
sudden  passion. 

"  In  love  with  him !  What  does  that  mean  ?  I 
met  him  in  the  spring.  There  's  a  kind  of  madness 
in  the  spring.  We  share  it  with  the  birds.  Brice 
was  handsome.  Look  at  his  eyes  now.  They  're 
beautiful  eyes.  He  quoted  classical  poetry  and  looked 
like  a  young  god,  and  my  blood  took  fire.  But  he 
was  n't  a  god,  and  I  have  seen  the  day  when  I  wanted 
to  drain  my  veins  dry  for  holding  blood  like  that !  " 
The  scorn  of  the  words  seemed  wholly  for  herself  and 
her  own  hateful  youth. 

"  But  he  was  fond  of  you,"  said  Elinor.  She  saw 
herself  weakly  putting  forth  a  conventional  fact  to 
meet  most  incendiary  truth,  only  to  have  it  burn  like 
stubble  and  make  the  truth  flame  higher. 

"  He  was  fond  of  me  —  yes !  but  what  did  that 
mean  ?  A  short  spring  madness,  like  my  own.  He 
got  used  to  me  very  quickly,  and  settled  into  a  dull 
jog-trot.  We  were  Darby  and  Joan.  We  were  to 
have  our  dinner  at  the  same  time  every  day,  and  Brice 
was  to  go  pottering  off  to  that  infernal  shop  of  his  at 
the  same  minute  every  morning." 

"  Dear  heart,  he  had  to  catch  his  train !  "  She 
smiled.  It  was  a  pitying  smile,  including  Brice  as 
well. 


42  THE   MANNERINGS 

"So  he  did.  But  don't  you  see?  don't  you  realize? 
All  his  life  is  like  that.  It  is  n't  that  he  's  method 
ical.  He  's  nothing  else.  It 's  all  small  beer.  It 's 
the  magnifying  of  trifles.  Why,  Nell,  the  very  care 
with  which  he  has  his  trousers  pressed  !  it  puts  a  kind 
of  madness  into  me.  I  look  at  that  smooth,  sharp  fold 
and  I  want  to  cut  it  with  my  scissors.  I  look  at  his 
boots,  and  I  want  to  burn  them,  because  I  know  he  has 
a  pair  for  Wednesday  and  a  pair  for  Saturday,  and  I 
know  they  are  in  his  closet,  the  toes  all  pointing  west." 

Elinor  bent  forward  and  smoothed  the  firm  hand 
clenched  upon  the  chair-arm.  She  laughed  unwill 
ingly,  and  Katharine  laughed  too,  though  still  from 
inexorable  revolt.  Her  emotion,  as  she  was  express 
ing  it,  was  a  passion  over  childish  things,  and  yet  it 
could  not  be  ignored.  It  was  too  real. 

"  I  had  one  bewildered  year,"  she  said,  in  a  voice 
full  of  awe  over  an  uncornprehended  past.  "  Then,  as 
women  do,  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  things  were 
all  wrong  and  it  was  my  fault.  I  tried  to  be  dutiful, 
affectionate,  and  Brice  enjoyed  his  dinner,  and  settled 
into  a  routine.  He  took  on  middle  age  as  creatures 
take  on  fat.  Then  I  revolted.  I  told  him  we  didn't 
care  about  each  other,  and  I  asked  him  to  let  me  go 
away." 

"  What  did  he  say  ?  " 

"  He  said  I  was  run  down,  and  I  must  be  a  good 
little  girl.  Then  he  read  the  evening  paper." 

The  irony  of  the  prescription  struck  Elinor.  She 
considered  the  woman's  heroic  mould. 

"  No,"  said  she,  "  I  should  n't  advise  anybody  to 
call  you  a  good  little  girl." 

Katharine  did  not  look  at  her.     For  the  moment 


A  CONFIDENCE  43 

it  seemed  as  if  she  could  not.  She  had  reached  a 
ditch  difficult  to  cross.  When  she  spoke  again  it  was 
with  hesitation  and  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  might  not 
have  told  him  that,  —  at  least  not  so  soon,  not  for 
years  ;  but  there  was  another  man." 

"  Katharine  !     O  Katharine  !  " 

"  Oh,  I  did  n't  love  him  !  He  did  n't  even  think  I 
did.  He  was  a  musical  person,  and  he  came  down 
here  in  the  summer  to  rest.  He  was  a  sentimental 
ist  —  professionally.  He  told  me  I  was  unhappy.  I 
thought  it  was  spiritual  insight.  It  was  n't ;  it  was 
his  habit.  To  have  somebody  else  see  my  trouble 
crystallized  everything.  It  shocked  me  into  doing 
something.  That  was  when  I  told  Brice.  Then  the 
man  went  away,  and  when  he  went,  he  said  :  '  You  '11 
remember  where  to  find  me.  If  I  can  do  anything 
for  you,  let  me  know.'  I  thought  he  meant  it.  He 
did  n't.  It  was  a  part  of  the  game."  She  spoke 
without  cynicism,  although  the  words  belied  her. 

Elinor  looked  at  her  curiously.  Katharine  seemed 
to  regard  the  man  as  an  incident  valuable  only  as  he 
had  brought  other  things  to  pass. 

"  I  missed  Vane  Williams.  He  was  the  only  crea 
ture  who  had  shown  me  any  sympathy.  I  suppose  he 
was  the  only  one  who  had  a  formula  of  sympathy. 
After  he  was  gone,  I  stood  it  two  days.  Then  I  went 
crazy.  I  had  another  talk  with  Brice.  And  after  he 
had  told  me  to  be  a  good  girl,  and  read  his  evening 
paper,  I  heard  him  upstairs  playing  billiards  with  his 
father ;  and  once,  when  he  made  a  good  stroke,  he 
cackled  like  a  hen.  You  heard  him  to-night.  That 's 
his  comedy.  Then  I  went  mad  all  over  again.  I 
packed  my  bag  and  took  the  nine  o'clock  train  to 


44  THE   MANNERINGS 

town.     I  was  going   to  New  York,  to  the  man  who 
was  sorry  for  me." 

"  Katharine ! " 

"  Oh,  I  did  n't  mean  any  harm  —  any  more  harm 
than  I  had  in  marrying !  I  thought  the  man  was  a 
great  soul.  I  was  sure  he  would  get  me  something 
to  do.  I  went  to  town ;  and  while  I  stood  at  the  win 
dow  asking  about  trains  to  New  York,  Gilbert  Home 
came  up." 

Elinor  started.  She  had  not  expected  that  name. 
Katharine's  voice  had  altered  unaccountably.  She 
seemed  softened,  humbled,  a  different  woman  from 
the  flaming  Maenad  of  the  moment  past. 

"  He  asked  me  what  the  matter  was,  and  I  walked 
away  from  the  window  with  him  and  told  him.  I  said 
it  quite  honestly.  It  all  seemed  very  simple.  I 
thought  I  was  dealing  with  things  big  enough  to  jus 
tify  themselves.  He  told  me  I  could  n't  go.  He  said 
if  I  did,  he  should  go  with  me.  Then  he  talked  to  me 
gently  and  calmly.  I  don't  know  what  he  said.  I 
only  knew  something  broke  in  me,  and  I  went  back." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  yes  !  "  breathed  Elinor.  There  was 
triumph  in  her  look.  She  could  fancy  how  Gilbert 
Home  would  save  a  woman. 

"  I  went  back  into  bondage.  For  the  moment  Gil 
bert  Home  had  made  it  seem  like  righteousness.  I 
was  exalted.  I  felt  I  was  renouncing  something,  and 
I  was  enough  of  a  woman  to  think  there 's  nothing 
better  than  renouncing.  But  it  all  came  on  again  — 
the  old  horror  of  being  here,  the  hatred  of  Brice.  It 
was  hatred  by  this  time." 

"  You  could  have  gone  away.  Why  not  have  done 
it  ?  By  yourself,  not  to  another  man  ?  " 


A  CONFIDENCE  45 

"  There  's  the  flaw  in  me,"  said  Katharine,  scorning 
herself.  "  I  was  never  quite  sure  I  was  n't  being  a 
coward.  Brice  seems  so  incapable  of  getting  on  by 
himself !  If  he  would  have  agreed  with  me,  if  he 
would  have  said,  4  We  will  end  it,'  I  could  have  done 
it.  But  there  was  no  money.  His  bookselling  brings 
in  nothing,  almost  nothing.  It 's  neck  and  neck.  And 
so  I  began  to  write  those  Sunday-school  books  - 
'  Hope  Glen  wood,'  all  the  rest  of  them  —  and  what  I 
got  out  of  them  went  into  the  housekeeping.  And  I 
could  n't  desert  —  don't  you  see  ?  —  unless  he  would 
have  planned  and  arranged  it  with  me,  and  talked  about 
ways  and  means.  You  see,  Elinor,  there  is  n't  any 
money.  How  could  I  desert  the  ship  when  there 's  no 
money?  "  She  wrinkled  her  brow,  and  looked  appeal- 
ingly  at  Elinor,  and  Elinor  saw  in  her  the  strange, 
mixed  elements  which  had  made  her  life  go  wrong  — 
the  child,  the  woman,  the  gallant  spirit  half  a  boy's. 

"  But  I  wanted  to  be  honest,"  said  Katharine.  "  I 
wasn't  even  willing  to  sit  at  the  table  with  Brice 
till  he  knew  what  I  had  tried  to  do.  So  I  told  him 
about  running  away.  I  told  him  about  wanting  to 
go  to  the  other  man." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

A  look  all  bitterness  ran  over  her  face  and  curdled 
it  into  ugly  lines. 

"  He  said,  c  Nonsense,  Katie,  nonsense  !  Where 
are  you  going  to  plant  your  hyacinths  ? '  Then  he 
talked  about  the  rotation  of  crops.  He  does  n't  know 
anything  about  it,  but  he  likes  to  think  he  does.  He 
imagines  he  's  a  gentleman  farmer.  That  and  a  classi 
cal  scholar.  He  knows  as  much  about  crops  as  he 
does  about  the  classics." 


46  THE   MANNERINGS 

"  You  're  hard  on  him,  Kate." 

"  I  'm  not  in  the  least  hard  on  him.  There 's 
nothing  the  matter  with  Brice,  except  that  he  's  my 
husband.  If  I  were  visiting  here  instead  of  you, 
I  should  look  on  him  with  a  mild  kindliness,  just 
as  you  do,  and  when  he  cackles,  laugh,  and  when  he 
is  idiotic,  find  excuses  for  him.  But  he  's  my  hus 
band,  Elinor,  my  husband  !  He  stands  for  me  in  the 
world  ;  he  represents  me.  His  failings  make  me  feel 
a  double  hatred.  They  seem  to  be  his  and  mine  to 
gether." 

"  Failings,  Kate  !    Think  of  mine,  think  of  yours  ! " 

"  Ah,  but  his  and  mine  are  not  the  kind  to  pair ! 
I  can  imagine  being  married  to  a  man  with  sins,  vices, 
things  I  sorrowed  over  and  prayed  for  every  day,  and 
adoring  him  more  and  more.  But  there  would  have 
to  be  something  big  and  splendid  in  him.  He  could  n't 
be  a  weakling.  I  'm  not  complaining  of  Brice,  Elinor. 
Heavens,  no  !  Only  he  's  a  stranger  to  me,  an  alien. 
We  're  not  alike,  we  're  not  even  different  with  that 
difference  that  makes  men  and  women  match.  We  're 
nothing  !  And  it 's  bah1  and  chain,  don't  you  see  ? 
Slavery  !  Like  the  dog  that  kills  the  duck,  and  then 
has  to  have  it  tied  about  his  neck." 

She  seemed,  from  point  to  point  along  her  quick 
discourse,  to  interpret  Elinor's  mind  even  when  the 
other  woman  had  not  spoken. 

"  I  know,"  she  said  now.  "  You  're  thinking  of 
the  horrible  taste  of  this.  You  're  dwelling  on  the 
silent  martyrdom  of  women.  Wives  die  and  make  no 
sign.  Well,  does  n't  this  prove  to  you  that  it 's  over 
and  done  with,  all  of  it  ?  I  could  be  a  Nancy  Sikes 
—  yes,  a  Desdemona  —  but  not  for  Brice  Mannering. 


A   CONFIDENCE  47 

No  !  "  She  looked  like  a  reckless  Valkyr,  and  Elinor 
searched  perplexedly  for  something  to  reply. 

"I  don't  blame  you,"  she  said.     "I  couldn't/' 

"  No.  Still,  you  see  it 's  not  an  ideal  situation. 
It 's  tawdry,  threadbare,  though  it  has  been  enough  to 
drive  me  very  near  the  things  people  do  in  tragedy. 
But  I  want  to  tell  you  everything  that  happened  after 
I  ran  away  and  came  back.  When  he  would  n't  listen 
to  me,  I  sat  down  and  wrote  a  book  about  it.  Yes,  I 
did.  I  thought  I  'd  write  an  honest  book  about  a 
woman  who  was  tied  as  I  am,  and  who  knew  she  had 
a  right  to  be  free.  I  said  all  the  things  I  wanted  to 
—  the  things  we  cover  up  as  if  they  were  indecent.  I 
made  the  woman  wonder  how  men  dare  sink  back  into 
mere  respectable  animals.  I  let  her  wonder  how  a 
man  who  wants  to  keep  his  hearthstone  undefiled  dares 
to  lay  aside  all  the  chivalry  and  courtesy  of  his  court 
ship  days  and  rob  her  of  every  vestige  of  beauty  he 
had  perjured  himself  promising  her.  Then  I  made 
the  woman  braver  than  I.  I  had  her  walk  out  of  the 
house  and  go  to  her  lover,  and  live  with  him,  and  live 
happily.  I  've  shocked  you !  " 

"  No  !  no !  "  said  Elinor.  There  was  pain  in  her 
face,  but  also  great  compassion.  "  I  'm  only  sorry." 

"  I  gave  the  book  to  Brice,  and  he  read  it  half 
through.  He  yawned  over  it.  I  tried  to  stir  him  up. 
I  told  him  boldly  what  it  was.  '  It 's  a  letter  to  you, 
Brice,'  I  said.  4  That 's  what  I  think.  That 's  what 
I  feel.  I  feel  exactly  that  about  marriage,  about  our 
marriage.  If  I  were  a  braver  woman,  I  should  walk 
away  from  it  as  this  woman  did.'  He  smiled  and 
said,  '  Well !  well ! '  and  he  never  finished  it.  Then 
I  made  up  my  mind  I  'd  publish  it,  to  tell  other 


48  THE  MANNERINGS 

women  somebody  understood.  I  showed  it  to  Gilbert 
Home." 

"Why  did  you?" 

"  I  don't  know.  Since  that  night  he  brought  me 
home,  I  'd  got  a  queer  obedience  to  him.  I  referred 
everything  to  him,  though  we  never  talked  about  mat 
ters  between  Brice  and  me.  We  never  have  except 
that  one  night.  But  I  asked  him  to  read  it,  and  he 
would  n't  let  me  publish  it." 

"Why?" 

"  He  said  it  was  immoral.  So  I  threw  it  into  a 
closet,  and  there  it  lies.  But  that  was  the  last  time  I 
tried  to  let  Brice  into  my  life.  I  separated  myself  in 
feeling.  I  moved  over  here  into  this  part  of  the  house. 
I  am  polite  to  him.  He  is  polite  to  me ;  he  always 
would  be.  Frankly,  Elinor,  I  don't  think  he  really 
knows  anything  is  the  matter.  I  fancy  he  believes 
I  've  settled  down,  in  my  middle  age,  and  we  're  going 
to  grow  old  in  peace.  But  we  're  not,  Elinor  ;  we  're 
not !  " 

She  held  the  arms  of  the  chair  with  a  grip  that 
made  her  knuckles  white.  Elinor,  challenged  by  that 
unbridled  youth  and  passion,  felt  old  beside  her.  "  My 
dear !  "  she  said.  "  My  dear  old  dear !  But  you  be 
gan  by  saying  you  might  be  free  —  what  did  you 
mean  ?  " 

Katharine  bent  forward  and  laid  her  hand  on  Eli 
nor's.  She  spoke  slowly,  yet  with  keen  insistence. 

"  Yes !  It 's  true.  You  see  all  this  time  while  I  've 
been  living  here,  I  never  have  stopped  one  instant 
pushing  and  pushing  him  away  from  me.  There 's 
something  in  it,  Elinor,  this  influencing  people.  I  've 
tried  to  rouse  that  sluggish  spirit  of  his,  and  make  him 


A  CONFIDENCE  49 

see  he  had  a  right  to  things,  too,  as  well  as  I,  and  he 
could  have  them  if  he  got  rid  of  me." 

"  But  he  's  comfortable,  as  you  live  now !  " 

"  Ah,  yes  !  but  don't  you  suppose  I  fret  and  sting 
him  a  million  times  a  day  ?  I  do.  I  've  told  him  so. 
I  Ve  said, 4  You  and  your  father  ought  to  live  together. 
If  there  was  money  enough,  you  could  go  off  to 
Europe  ! '  And  the  other  day  he  said  in  a  queer,  sly 
way  he  has  —  it 's  like  a  child  that 's  got  a  secret  — 
4  We  're  going  to  have  some  money.  If  father  and 
I  should  go  to  Europe,  would  you  go  too  ?  '  That 
means  something !  it  means  something  !  " 

To  Elinor  it  meant  very  little,  but  she  had  not  the 
heart  to  say  so.  Katharine  sat  there  interrogating 
her  from  such  passionate  eyes  that  she  could  only  an* 
swer  gently,  — 

"  What  would  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  Ve  been  getting  ready  for  it ;  I  Ve  been  learning 
stenography  and  typewriting.  I  could  support  my 
self  —  I  know  I  could.  I  Ve  even  thought  if  I  could 
get  a  position  I  might  live  in  town,  and  turn  in  money 
to  help  them  here.  But  I  can't  yet,  Elinor,  not  yet." 

Elinor's  mind  ran  back  in  amazed  retrospect  over 
the  years  of  cheerful  letter  -  writing  between  them. 
They  had  known  nothing  about  each  other,  after  all. 

"  Do  you  really  want  me  here,"  she  asked  at 
length,  "  with  all  this  brewing  ?  " 

"  You  're  a  godsend.  Don't  you  see  you  're  the  one 
healthy,  human  thing,  to  take  us  out  of  ourselves  ?  " 


OLD    LOVE   ESTRANGED 

GILBERT  HORNE  was  finishing  his  solitary  break 
fast  in  the  great  square  room  looking  out  on  the  or 
chard.  The  room  was  in  keeping  with  a  former  life 
—  that  of  the  olden  time  when  the  house  was  built. 
There  was  a  wainscoting,  as  in  every  part  of  the  house, 
and  the  great  fireplace  had  dogs  —  Hessian  soldiers 
these,  of  martial  bearing.  The  low  mantel  held  pew 
ter,  and  porringers  were  hung  underneath.  There 
was  a  sideboard,  and  high-backed  chairs  were  ranged 
along  the  wall.  The  only  sign  of  modern  invasion 
was  a  plainly  built  cabinet  packed  with  historic  china. 

Home  leaned  his  head  upon  his  hand,  and  regarded 
his  plate  absently.  He  pushed  it  back,  and  Cassie 
Rhodes,  coming  in  with  buckwheat  cakes,  noted  that 
he  was  not  eating.  She  was  a  great  creature  made 
out  of  the  best  of  New  England  earth.  She  and  her 
aunt,  old  Sally,  old  in  nothing  save  that  the  neighbor 
hood  had  known  her  a  long  time,  carried  on  the  house. 
Cassie  took  his  plate  in  the  noiseless  way  of  perfect 
service,  and  then  stood  behind  him  for  a  moment, 
watching  him  with  brooding  eyes.  No  mere  beauty 
could  be  compared  to  its  own  advantage  with  her 
sturdy  health  and  fitness  for  the  service  she  had  chosen. 
Her  face  was  fresh-colored  and  her  eyes  were  brown. 
She  was  not  quite  thirty,  but  she  looked  more  mature 


OLD  LOVE  ESTRANGED  51 

by  reason  of  her  size  and  the  serious  way  she  had  of 
taking  things.  There  was  great  gentleness  about  her ; 
it  was  the  pliancy  of  the  animal  which  has  been 
treated  kindly.  When  she  spoke,  her  voice  was  mu 
sical. 

"  Mr.  Home,  aunt  Sally  says  you  're  not  eating 
anything." 

Gilbert  came  to  life,  and  began  to  butter  the  cakes. 

"  Never  mind  aunt  Sally.  What  do  you  say  ?  "  he 
inquired,  cutting  into  the  layered  sweetness. 

Cassie  laughed,  a  low  sound  full  of  content  because 
he  had  returned  to  his  plate. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  she,  with  a  happy  care 
lessness.  "  If  folks  don't  eat  one  meal,  they  will  the 
next." 

Then  she  went  off  into  the  kitchen,  and  Gilbert 
heard  her  caroling  the  desolate  minor  of  "  Hearken, 
Ye  Sprightly  "  in  the  jocund  measure  of  a  heart  at 
ease.  Or  he  would  have  heard  it,  except  that  his  ear 
took  no  conscious  note  of  the  two  women  who  made 
his  life  run  in  an  even  groove.  They  were  so  truly  a 
part  of  his  ways  that  he  regarded  them  hardly  more 
than  the  bread  he  ate.  Presently  the  door  opened 
and  Sally  appeared,  to  make  sure  that  breakfast  was 
going  well.  She  paused  in  the  doorway  and  asked 
in  a  crisp  staccato,  — 

"  More  cakes  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Gilbert,  — "  no,  thank  you,  Sally." 
But  her  face  dropped  a  trifle,  and  he  added  yield 
ingly,  "  Well,  one  more  ;  one  or  two !  " 

Sally  grunted  in  a  way  she  had,  more  than  half  In 
dian,  and  went  stiffly  out  with  his  plate.  In  due  time 
she  returned,  and  stood  for  a  moment  as  her  niece  had 


52  THE  MANNERINGS 

done,  enjoying  him  and  his  appetite.  He  was  a  man, 
a  helpless  creature  needing  service  from  the  breast  to 
the  tomb,  and  her  old  glance  mothered  him.  Sally 
and  her  niece  seemed  to  have  no  kinship  of  blood,  as 
to  the  outer  woman.  Cassie  had  been  made  from  the 
earth's  abundance,  and  Sally  was  little  and  dry,  with 
long  arms  and  a  halting  foot.  Her  lameness  was  a 
mystery  to  others.  It  gave  her  no  trouble,  she  said. 
It  never  hurt.  She  could  do  a  woman's  work  and 
ask  no  odds  of  anybody.  It  seemed  an  intrinsic 
part  of  her,  and  no  one  thought  of  pity.  She  had  a 
delicate  face  with  a  sharp  nose  and  little  lace-like 
wrinkles  everywhere.  Her  eyes  were  black,  as  keen 
as  needles,  and  she  had  a  mass  of  iron-gray,  curling 
hair. 

"  You  must  n't  git  into  the  way  o'  not  eatin',"  she 
said  incidentally. 

Gilbert  had  finished  his  cakes.  "  Sit  down  a 
minute,  Sally,"  said  he,  pushing  back  his  chair. 
"  You  've  cleaned  the  garret  ?  " 

Sally  had  not  sat  down.  She  watched  him  nar 
rowly.  There  was  even  something  satirical  in  her 
gaze. 

"  It 's  as  clean  as  a  ribbin,"  she  said.  "  I  took 
them  two  warm  days  for  't." 

Gilbert  passed  his  hand  over  his  forehead,  and 
looked  embarrassed.  When  he  spoke  again,  it  was 
not  with  his  usual  direct  assurance.  His  purpose 
seemed  to  be  wavering  behind  the  words. 

"  I  thought  I  could  pack  my  papers  into  cases,  and 
put  them  up  there  under  the  eaves.  Some  I  should 
leave  in  the  library  with  the  books  ;  but  some  "  — 

Sally  took  up  a  teaspoon  and  regarded  the  bowl 


OLD   LOVE   ESTRANGED  53 

mirthfully.  Then  she  turned  it  over  and,  seeing  a 
trace  of  black  about  the  marking,  she  frowned.  But 
the  smile  returned,  and  wrinkled  up  the  network 
about  her  eyes  until  they  disappeared  within.  Gil 
bert,  moved  by  the  silence,  glanced  up  at  her,  and 
caught  the  smile. 

"  What  are  you  laughing  at,  you  irritating  old 
Cheshire  cat  ?  "  he  asked,  with  the  violence  of  a  de 
tected  man. 

Sally  said  nothing,  but  smiled  the  more. 

"  I  know  what  you  think,"  said  Home  fractiously. 
"  You  think  I  never  meant  to  go  away  at  all.  You 
think  when  I  talked  about  Montana,  I  did  it  for  the 
fun  of  planning  how  you  and  Cassie  might  live  along 
here  —  oh,  go  away  with  you  !  " 

Sally  began  picking  up  the  dishes  with  great  deft 
ness.  She  looked  innocently  conscious  of  knowing 
more  than  she  told. 

"  Come  now,"  said  Home,  himself  beginning  to 
smile,  "  you  speak,  Sally,  or  I  shall  do  murder.  You 
would  n't  want  me  to  brain  you  with  a  fire-shovel. 
Speak  out,  you  catamount!  Do  you  think  I  never 
meant  to  go  West  at  all  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Sally  smoothly,  "  I  guess  you  meant 
to." 

"  But  you  don't  think  I  mean  to  now  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Sally,  "you  ain't  a-goin'.  I  knew  it 
when  I  waked  up  this  mornin'.  Cassie  knew  it,  too. 
4  He  won't  go,  aunt  Sally,'  says  she.  '  He  won't  go.' 
She  come  downstairs  singin'  like  a  bird.  No,  you 
won't  go.  But  it 's  all  clean  up  garret,  if  you  want 
to  pack  away." 

She  disappeared  haltingly  into  the  kitchen,   and 


54  THE  MANNERINGS 

when  the  door  was  opened  Gilbert  heard  a  gush  of 
"  Hearken,  Ye  Sprightly,"  as  if  it  had  escaped  and 
flown  into  the  room.  Presently  a  thin  voice,  like  a 
cicada,  joined  the  melody,  and  then  it  stopped  and 
both  the  women  laughed.  Home  knew  they  were 
delighted  at  Sally's  invasion  of  the  tune,  but  it  seemed 
for  the  instant  as  if  every  one  were  scoffing  at  his 
own  infirmity  of  purpose. 

"  Infernal  nuisances !  "  he  growled  ;  and  went  off 
into  the  library,  knowing  he  loved  them  well. 

He  wandered  about  the  room  like  a  man  given  an 
unexpected  holiday,  doing  the  little  things  that  make 
a  luxury  of  daily  being.  He  laid  a  log  on  the  fire, 
and  drew  the  curtains  to  a  careful  line.  Then  he  sat 
down  in  his  chair  by  the  hearthstone,  and  let  the 
peace  of  freedom  sink  into  him.  These  two  women 
had  illuminated  his  inability  to  tear  himself  up  by 
the  roots  and  transplant  himself  into  a  new  country. 
He  had  been  going  for  Richard's  sake,  and  Richard 
had  refused  to  go ;  now  he  was  penetrated  by  grati 
tude  at  the  reprieve.  Looking  about  on  his  own 
walls,  he  found  them  comforting,  and  sank  further 
into  the  reverie  that  belongs  by  right  not  to  the  be 
ginning  of  the  day  but  to  darkness.  He  remembered 
Elinor  and  gave  up  to  thinking  of  her,  as  he  had 
not  for  many  years.  She  was  the  dream  of  his  youth, 
at  first  attended  by  sharp  pangs  of  longing  and  quick 
reprisals,  and  tKen  dulling  a  little,  like  a  dream,  and, 
still  like  a  dream,  relegated  to  the  region  where  the 
unreal  lurks  and  beseeches  us.  He  had  fallen  into 
the  habit  of  thinking  he  had  loved  her,  and  that 
through  his  own  infirmity  of  purpose  and  the  hard 
circumstances  which  together  make  what  we  call  des- 


OLD   LOVE   ESTRANGED  55 

tiny,  he  had  lost  her.  Now  she  stepped  out  of  the 
dream  again,  a  girl  grown  to  a  woman,  and  with  a 
strange,  untouched  beauty  he  had  seen  in  no  one  else. 
She  bewildered  him.  He  felt,  in  spite  of  his  shyness, 
an  urgent  curiosity  about  her,  not  as  she  regarded 
him,  for  he  did  not  expect  her  to  regard  him  at  all, 
but  as  the  creature  she  was,  harmonious,  full  of  mys 
tery.  To  his  humble  mind  there  was  no  likelihood 
that  his  young  fondness  had  been  a  mutual  thing. 
He  could  remember  how  she  enslaved  him  and  how 
he  haunted  her  ;  but  he  never  guessed  that  the  girl 
also  had  her  sweet,  shy  passion.  As  if  his  thought 
of  her  had  been  a  summons,  he  saw  her  walking  by, 
and  with  a  keen  impulse  he  took  his  hat  and  coat,  and 
ran  down  the  snowy  path  into  the  road. 

"  I  thought  you  were  in  town,"  she  greeted  him. 

"Why?" 

"  You  said  you  were  going  on  the  early  train." 

"  I  know  it.  I  backslid.  I  don't  care  much  about 
the  town.  Where  are  you  bound  now  ?  " 

"  To  the  five  pines.  Kate  is  busy.  I  wanted  to 
look  up  old  landmarks." 

He  fell  into  step  with  her,  without  debating  whether 
she  wanted  him.  It  was  at  once  as  simply  desirable 
a  thing  to  be  together  as  it  had  been  years  ago.  One 
thought  was  in  both  their  minds.  This  was  exactly 
what  he  had  used  to  do :  to  take  his  cap  and  run  after 
her  when  he  saw  her  out  of  doors. 

"  It 's  no  weather  for  the  five  pines,"  he  said. 

"  I  know  it.  But  I  remember  what  they  are  in 
summer.  They  are  on  your  land,  are  n't  they  ?  No 
body  can  cut  them  down." 

"  Nobody  ever  will,  in  my  day." 


56  THE  MANNERINGS 

Gilbert  at  once  felt  a  lightness  of  spirit  quite 
amazing  to  him.  He  had  learned  to  be  content  with 

O 

very  little  ;  to  take  pale  satisfactions  and  call  them 
pleasures  because  it  was  well  to  do  so.  Throughout 
his  mother's  invalid  life,  he  was  conscious  of  a  relief 
when  the  days  were  more  serene  than  usual :  when 
she  was  neither  hysterical,  nor  remorseful  over  yester 
day's  hysteria.  Then  there  was  the  moderate  joy  of 
getting  off  alone  into  the  woods,  and  learning  to  own 
his  soul  again  before  he  came  back  and  gave  it  away 
all  over,  with  willing  aches  of  puzzled  service.  But 
now,  as  they  walked  away  together,  he  had  that  quick 
ened  sense  of  being  due  only  to  completion. 

"  I  have  been  jeered  at  by  my  family,  this  morn 
ing,"  said  he.  Elinor  glanced  at  him  and  saw  how 
much  younger  he  looked  than  he  had  the  night  before. 
The  daylight  had  not  betrayed  —  it  was  revealing 
him.  "  Old  Sally ;  —  she  's  my  family  ;  she  and  her 
niece." 

"  I  remember  Sally.  She  was  old  then.  The  niece 
I  never  saw." 

"  I  want  Dick  to  go  West  with  me,  you  know ;  but 
he  won't  and  I  'm  glad,  infernally  glad.  I  settled 
down  this  morning  into  my  gladness.  I  knew  I  was 
safe  for  a  few  weeks  at  least,  till  I  can  persuade  him. 
But  Sally  detected  me.  She  thinks  I  never  meant  to 
go  at  all." 

"  But  you  did.  Kate  wrote  me  about  it  weeks  ago. 
Then  you  were  going  at  once." 

"  I  was.  But  Dick  failed  me.  I  did  n't  want  to 
go  then.  I  had  to  screw  my  courage  up." 

"  Entirely  for  him  ?  " 

"  Partly  for  him,  partly  for  me.     When  my  mo- 


OLD  LOVE  ESTRANGED  57 

ther  died,  I  was  perfectly  aware  that  I  'd  got  to  go 
somewhere.  I  thought  of  Europe,  but  frankly  I  did 
n't  want  it.  Then  when  I  got  the  idea  that  the  West 
was  the  thing  for  Dick,  it  seemed  as  if  it  might  do  for 
me." 

"  Yes,  I  understand." 

He  interpreted  her  thought. 

"  No,"  said  he  quickly,  "  you  don't.  You  think 
I  wanted  change  because  I  was  in  grief  after  my 
mother's  death.  That  is  n't  it  at  all.  I  saw  what 
a  poor  thing  I  'd  grown  to  be  settling  down  here 
heavier  and  heavier  year  after  year.  I  saw  I  'd  got 
to  tear  myself  up  by  the  roots,  unless  I  meant  to  grow 
gnarly  and  knotty  and  worm-eaten.  I  'd  got  to  knock 
about.  The  time  is  past  when  it  '11  do  any  real  good, 
but  a  change  might  keep  my  blood  going.  Still  I 
should  hate  it." 

"  You  'd  rather  stay  here  ?  " 

"  Right  here,  like  a  tree.  My  youth  is  gone.  I  'd 
like  to  have  the  rain  rain  on  me  and  tne  sun  shine, 
and  let  me  grow  old  in  peace." 

The  words  gave  her  a  vague  and  unaccountable  pain. 
For  herself,  she  had  never  thought  much  about  age, 
save  that  if  it  came  before  he  saw  her,  he  might  be 
disappointed.  There  were  moments  when  she  had 
been  heart  -  sickeningly  jealous  of  the  girl  she  was. 
But  in  his  maturer  strength,  he  looked  invulnerable, 
and  she  recoiled  indignantly  at  the  thought  of  his 
renouncing  life  as  other  men  had  found  it. 

"  Well,  why  not  ?  "  she  said,  answering  in  the  way 
women  have  when  their  minds  are  bitterest  and  must 
not  be  betrayed.  "  Why  not  grow  old  in  peace  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  he,  almost  fractiously,  "  but 


58  THE  MAXXEREKGS 

you  can't.  Somehow  we  are  stung  with  this  ever 
lasting  desire  to  knead  over  the  stuff  we  are  made 
of.  I  in  a  coward.  I  *m  afraid  of  ordinary  life.  I 
always  have  been,  when  I  let  myself  think.  And  I  "m 
harried  night  and  day  with  the  necessity  of  making 
myself  more  like  other  men.*9  Then  he  laughed. 
"You  are  just  the  same,  aren't  yon?"  said  he. 
««Open  locks,  whoever  knocks.'" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

«*  Why,  you  don't  say  much ;  you  only  listen.  Yet 
m  aoon  as  I  am  with  yon  I  open  my  mouth  and  talk, 
and  I  have  n't  talked  about  myself  to  anybody  since 
you  went  away.  It's  a  fact  Nothing  has  seemed 
important  enough.  But  here  you  are,  dragging  it  all 
OTfcigain." 

The  blood  rose  to  her  cheeks,  deepening  the  flush 
brought  by  tile  wintry  day.  Her  eyes  took  on  happi 
ness.  She  forgot  the  years  that  ky  behind  them,  and 
forgot  his  talk  of  age, 

"  Race  you  to  the  pines ! "  she  dared  him.  He 
nUiiml,  giving  her  chivalrous  odds ;  but  she  ran  so 
hard  and  fast  that  competition  entered  into  him  and 
he  raced  her  fairly.  He  beat,  and  she  came  up  pant 
ing,  the  blood  pumping  more  color  into  her  cheeks 
and  brightness  into  her  eyes. 

"Don't  talk  about  old  age,"  she  cried.  "We're 
alive  and  this  Ls  old  New  England,  That's  enough." 


VI 

HEARTS    INSPIRED 

ELINOR  came  downstairs  that  night  after  dinner 
and  found  Briee  and  his  father  in  their  places  by  the 
fire.  Mannering  had  the  paper,  and  his  father,  the 
unread  volume  of  Homer  in  his  hand,  was  always 
drowsing  off.  Brice  solicitously  got  her  a  chair. 

"  Have  you  seen  the  paper  ?  "  he  asked  :  but  she 
took  a  book  and  began  a  pretense  of  reading,  not  to 
break  in  upon  their  hour.  She  felt  like  a  spy,  with 
this  double  consciousness  of  what  Brice  ordinarily 
seemed  and  what  he  seemed  to  his  wife.  Presently 
Katharine  came  in  and  made  a  stir  in  the  air.  Elinor 
roused  under  her  aggressive  vitality;  but  the  two 
men  were  impervious  to  it.  They  were  used  to  her, 
as  eyes  grow  dulled  to  mountains  and  the  sea. 

"I  think,"  said  the  captain,  bestirring  himself, 
after  half  an  hour's  comfortable  somnolence,  ••  that  I 
shall  take  a  little  constitutional  on  the  veranda.  No ! 
my  boy,  no !  no !  I  '11  get  my  hat  and  coat." 

But  Brice  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  put  an  affection 
ate  hand  through  his  father's  arm.  They  went  out  of 
the  room  together  looking  amazingly  alike,  more  from 
some  subtile  inner  resemblance  than  any  chance  of 
line  and  color. 

Katharine  was  watching  Elinor,  and  now  she  spoke 
impulsively. 


60  THE  MANNERINGS 

"  I  'm  sorry  I  told  you  about  Brice  and  me.  It 
worries  you." 

"  Well,"  said  Elinor,  with  a  wrinkled  brow,  "  does  n't 
it  worry  you  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  but  that 's  different.  You  've  let  it  eat  into 
you.  It 's  spoiling  your  visit." 

Elinor  could  not  deny  it. 

"  I  am  chiefly  uncomfortable,"  she  owned,  "  at 
knowing  something  Brice  would  n't  want  me  to  know. 
I  feel  like  an  impostor." 

"Bless  you,  he  wouldn't  mind!  Why,  I'll  tell 
him.  Brice !  "  He  had  left  his  father  on  the  ve 
randa,  and  was  coming  in  again. 

"  Don't  take  your  paper,"  said  Katharine,  as  he 
seated  himself  and  stretched  out  a  foot  toward  the 
fire.  "  I  want  to  tell  you  something.  I  've  been  ex 
plaining  things  to  Elinor :  about  you  and  me,  Brice. 
I  tell  her  we  don't  want  to  live  together." 

Elinor  felt  herself  crimsoning.  But  Brice  vouch 
safed  a  hearty  little  laugh. 

"  Well !  well !  "  said  he  ;  ;'  now,  have  you  really  ?  " 

Katharine  spoke  eagerly.  She  leaned  toward  him 
as  if  she  were  persuading  him. 

"  Don't  you  see,  Brice  ?  I  wanted  her  to  know, 
because  she  's  going  to  be  here  with  us.  I  wanted 
her  to  understand.  And  it 's  true,  is  n't  it  ?  We  're 
not  like  other  married  people,  are  we?  We  both 
want  to  be  free."  She  seemed  to  be  demanding  a 
most  excellent  thing,  but  Brice  received  it  as  if  she 
asked  for  an  absurd  one. 

"  elust  the  same,  is  n't  she  ?  "  he  said  to  Elinor  with 
what  seemed  to  her  an  indulgent  fondness ;  "  same 
old  Katie ! " 


HEARTS  INSPIRED  61 

"  Oh,  Brice,  you  're  like  a  blank  wall !  "  cried  Katha 
rine,  as  if  she  would  strike  him.  "  Tell  her  the  truth! 
Tell  her  what  you  told  me  the  other  day.  You  said 
you  were  going  to  make  money.  You  said  you  might 
go  abroad  to  live,  you  and  your  father." 

He  settled  back  in  his  chair,  a  slow  smile  creeping 
over  his  face.  He  was  not  beautified  by  his  smile. 
It  was  self-important,  fatuous.  "  It 's  something  of 
a  surprise,"  he  said  to  Elinor,  in  a  gigantic  aside. 
"  I  've  got  a  surprise  for  her." 

But  as  Katharine  leaned  drearily  back  in  her  chair, 
he  repented  and  turned  the  paper  toward  her.  "  Look 
at  that !  "  he  said  in  triumph.  "  Read  that !  "  It 
was  an  advertisement  in  letters  two  inches  long;  it 
took  the  entire  space  across  the  page. 

"  4  Hearts  Inspired,'  "  read  Katharine,  with  no  great 
interest.  "  What  is  it?  A  new  book?  A  novel? 
Published  by  —  by  you,  Brice  ?  You  don't  publish 
books." 

"  I  am  publishing  this  one,"  declared  Mannering, 
with  an  assurance  verging  on  bravado.  "  Why  should 
not  I  publish  a  book?  " 

"But  how  can  you?  How  can  you  afford  it? 
Where  's  the  money  for  printing,  advertising  ?  Hea 
vens,  Brice,  you  've  got  to  advertise !  " 

Brice  took  the  paper  and  folded  it,  so  that  the 
letters  stared  him  in  the  face.  He  looked  at  them 
lovingly,  as  one  who  had  created  them. 

"  I  am  advertising,"  he  said. 

"  But  how  ?  —  how  ?  Why,  we  have  n't  paid  for 
the  cistern  yet !  " 

The  air  seemed  too  warm  for  non-combatants,  and 
Elinor  got  softly  up  to  leave  the  room.  But  Brice 


62  THE  MANNERINGS 

rose  at  the  same  moment,  and  made  a  gesture  to 
detain  her. 

"  Don't  go,"  he  said.  "  This  is  n't  all.  I  want 
you  to  hear  the  rest." 

She  sat  down  again,  under  some  graceful  protest, 
and  he  remained  standing.  He  looked  triumphant, 
and  Katharine  stared  at  him. 

"  It 's  your  book,"  he  said  to  her,  as  if  he  made  her 
a  present. 

"My  book?" 

"  The  book  you  wrote  so  long  ago,  and  gave  to  me 
to  read."  He  said  it  with  the  air  of  a  child  who  has 
done  well. 

Katharine  rose  also  and  faced  him,  a  hand  on  the 
back  of  her  chair.  A  slow  red  crept  into  her  cheeks. 
Her  eyes  burned  upon  him. 

"  What  book  ?  The  story  of  the  woman  who  left 
her  husband?" 

"Yes." 

"  It  had  no  name !  " 

He  chuckled.     "  I  named  it." 

"  You  refused  to  read  it,  at  the  time.  You  have 
taken  it  down  out  of  the  garret,  and  you  are  publish 
ing  it?" 

Now  Elinor  rose  again,  and  neither  of  them  de 
tained  her.  When  she  went  out  she  shut  the  door, 
and  they  heard  her  presently  pacing  up  and  down  the 
veranda  with  Captain  Mannering.  Content  was  reg 
nant  in  Mannering's  eyes.  He  looked  like  a  person 
who  has  done  an  exceedingly  good  thing. 

"  I  knew  I  should  surprise  you,"  he  said,  again  with 
a  chuckle. 

"  Surprise  me !  Brice,  it  is  my  book.  You  can't 
tamper  with  it." 


HEARTS   INSPIRED  63 

Mannering  at  that  moment  remembered  other  tem 
pests  in  that  very  room,  when  she  had  told  him  it  was 
not  the  trammels  of  marriage  she  hated :  that  it  was 
the  individual  bond.  To  a  man  who  could  master 
her,  she  had  said,  she  would  gladly  yield.  The  time 
would  come,  he  had  always  felt,  when  he  could  justify 
himself  and  quell  her  scorn  of  him. 

"  I  have  advertised  the  book,"  he  said,  with  a  deci 
sion  so  unnatural  that,  even  to  her,  it  sounded  ominous. 
"  I  might  as  well  tell  you,  it  is  in  print.  I  brought 
you  home  a  copy."  He  went  to  a  drawer  in  the  desk, 
and  drew  forth  a  book,  well  bound,  of  a  comfortable 
size. 

She  put  out  a  mechanical  hand,  and  took  it.  She 
turned  the  leaves  —  it  was  well  printed.  Familiar 
phrases  caught  her  eye.  Here  was  power,  there  was 
conventional  twaddle.  She  was  afraid  to  look  further. 
Closing  the  book,  she  stood  holding  it  in  one  hand, 
and  gazed  past  Mannering  out  of  the  window.  The 
extremity  of  her  anger  frightened  her.  It  seemed  to 
presage  some  bodily  convulsion.  And  all  the  time 
Mannering  stood  looking  at  her  with  the  fatuous  smile 
she  knew  from  memory.  When  she  spoke,  her  voice 
was  rather  dry,  but  almost  unconcerned.  It,  like  all 
her  bodily  forces,  seemed  to  be  on  the  point  of  escap 
ing  her  control. 

"  The  manuscript  had  no  name.  You  say  you 
named  it?" 

«  Yes.     Good  title,  is  n't  it  ?     Capital  seUing  title !  " 

"  You  did  n't  announce  it  beforehand.     Why  ?  " 

"  I  'm  springing  it  on  the  public,"  said  Mannering, 
with  the  same  air  of  swaggering  sufficiency.  "  I 
might  have  announced  it,  if  I  'd  been  willing  to  wait ; 


64  THE  MANNERINGS 

but  the  fact  is,  the  whole  thing  is  rather  sudden.  I 
only  thought  of  it  six  weeks  ago.  I  rushed  it  through." 

"  You  rushed  it  through !  You  knew  I  would  for 
bid  it." 

He  was  recovering  his  ordinary  poise  in  the  relief 
of  finding  her  calm.  He  laughed  a  little,  the  shallow 
mirth  she  hated. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  the  fact  is,  Home  "  - 

"  You  talked  to  him  about  it  ?  " 

"  I  remembered  you  said  he  'd  read  it,  and  I  asked 
him  what  he  thought.  He  said,  no,  it  must  n't  go  into 
print ;  said  it  was  immoral."  Again  he  laughed. 

"  So  that  determined  you  ?  " 

"  For  God's  sake,  Kate,  don't  be  unreasonable  !  He 
said  it  would  be  considered  so  —  considered  so,  you 
know,  and  it  was  n't  fair  to  you.  So  I  did  n't  use 
your  name.  Look  at  the  title-page.  You  have  n't 
thought  of  that.  It 's  anonymous,  Kate,  anonymous." 

Katharine  did  not  look  at  the  title-page.  She  went 
to  the  fire,  and  began  stripping  out  the  leaves  of  the 
book  and  showering  them  in  the  blaze.  She  was  quite 
white  now,  and  her  eyes  were  deadly.  Mannering, 
fascinated,  watched  the  inexorable  movement  of  her 
hands.  At  last,  she  laid  the  cover  on  the  flames, 
and  they  licked  the  fine  gilt  title,  "  Hearts  Inspired." 
Brice  shrank  a  little.  He  was  afraid  of  her  tempera 
ment,  its  intensity,  its  vividness.  All  her  emotions 
seemed  so  disproportionate  to  life,  as  he  saw  it.  With 
her,  he  had  the  feeling  sometimes  awakened  by  the  in 
sane  ;  it  was  impossible  to  tell  when  she  would  break 
out  next.  At  that  moment  there  was  the  stillness  that 
implies  a  moral  hush ;  but  a  voice  ringing  and  full  of 
cheer  broke  in  upon  it.  Richard  Home  had  come. 


HEARTS   INSPIRED  65 

"  Hullo,  Mannering !  you  're  a  great  one,  are  n't 
you  ?  You  've  painted  the  town  red.  Seen  the  book, 
Mrs.  Mannering  ?  " 

Katharine  turned  slowly  toward  him,  and  the  ten 
sion  of  her  hand  upon  the  chair  relaxed.  Mannering 
felt  the  going  down  of  the  storm,  and  sank  into  his 
seat,  at  ease.  He  had  a  simple  faith  that  when  a 
tempest  seemed  to  be  over,  it  really  was. 

"So  the  book  is  out,"  said  Katharine,  with  a  delu 
sive  sweetness. 

Richard  followed  her  lead,  and  sat  down. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  out !  He  's  painted  the  town. 
You  're  a  great  old  boy  for  keeping  a  secret,  Manner 
ing.  What  made  you  do  it  that  way  ?  " 

Mannering  had  gathered  his  self-importance  about 
him  like  a  mantle.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had 
done  a  very  good  thing  indeed,  and  that  trade  was 
about  to  recognize  it.  It  could  not  but  be  apparent 
to  him  that  he  was  sometimes  ignored  in  this  little 
world ;  but  now  at  last  his  own  self-estimate  was  jus 
tified. 

"  I  had  reasons,"  he  said,  —  "  reasons." 

Richard's  glance  fell  upon  the  shriveling  cover,  and 
his  face  took  on  a  droll  surprise. 

"  Why  —  Jove !  "  he  said,  "  you  're  burning  it  up." 

"  Yes,"  said  Katharine  smoothly ;  "  a  defective 
copy." 

She  had  lost  her  rich  color,  the  red  of  anger.  Her 
face  had  fallen  into  a  dull  white,  and  certain  lines 
were  graven  there.  Mannering  did  not  look  at  her, 
but  he  showed  an  airy  pleasure.  The  cloud,  he 
thought,  had  passed. 

"I'll  tell  you  all  about  it,  Richard,"  he  said  affa- 


66  THE  MANNERINGS 

bly.  "  The  fact  is,  this  manuscript,  this  most  extraor 
dinary  manuscript,  came  into  my  hands,  and  I  con 
cluded  to  publish  it.  I  'm  going  to  advertise  it  — 
widely." 

"  Well,  it 's  about  as  wide  as  anything  can  be  now," 
said  Richard,  —  "  evening  papers  full  of  it,  street  cars 
bombarded,  piles  on  the  news-stands.  Oh,  you  '11  get 
there,  Mannering  !  But  have  n't  you  got  the  cheek  !  " 

"  I  hope  so,  my  boy,"  said  Mannering  confidently ; 
"  I  hope  so.  If  you  spend  money  enough  on  a  book, 
you  can  make  it  go.  This  is  a  remarkable  book,  and 
it 's  going." 

Katharine  rose  at  the  word,  and  both  men  with  her. 
When  she  had  passed  the  threshold,  Mannering  turned 
to  Richard. 

"  Now,  my  boy,"  he  said  heartily,  "  sit  down,  and 
I  '11  tell  you  what  I  propose  to  do  about  the  book." 


vn 

KEVOLT 

KATHARINE  went  to  the  outer  door  and  threw  it 
open.  She  stood  there  for  a  moment,  swept  by  the 
cold  air,  and  yet  not  feeling  it.  Still  burning  with 
anger,  she  shuddered  under  its  rush  and  onset.  A 
double  footfall  sounded  from  the  side  veranda,  where 
Captain  Mannering  was  pacing  up  and  down  with 
Elinor ;  there  was  the  murmur  of  Elinor's  voice. 
That  recalled  her. 

"  Elinor  !  "  she  cried  sharply.     "  Elinor  !  " 

The  steps  halted  for  an  instant,  and  then  Elinor 
came  hurrying  round  the  corner.  Katharine  drew  her 
into  the  house. 

44  Come  upstairs,"  she  said  imperatively.  44  Get  your 
things  off."  She  went  on  in  advance,  and  walked 
into  Elinor's  room,  where  a  fire  was  burning  softly  in 
the  wintry  dusk.  Katharine  pointed  to  the  chair  by 
the  hearth.  44  Sit  down,"  she  said.  44 1  can't  rest.  I 
must  talk.  Elinor,  did  you  hear  him  ?  He  has  pub 
lished  that  book  —  my  book." 

44  It  is  incredible.  But  what  can  you  do  ?  It  is 
too  late." 

44  It  is  not  too  late  to  rage  !  "  said  Katharine,  her 
eyes  hot,  her  cheeks  ablaze.  44  Elinor,  I  hate  this 
anger.  It 's  like  murder." 

Elinor  got  up  and  went  to  her.     She  took  Katha- 


68  THE  MANNERINGS 

rine's  wrists  and  held  them  still.  For  herself,  she 
seemed  at  once  to  be  a  different  creature.  Her  pretty, 
facile  droop  was  gone.  This  was  the  woman  who  had 
acted  for  other  people  all  her  life,  thought  for  them, 
controlled  them,  and  denied  herself. 

"  Come  and  sit  down,"  she  said.  "  Don't  waste 
yourself  so.  There  's  no  good  in  that." 

Katharine  let  herself  be  led  to  the  chair  and  sank 
into  it,  clasping  her  knees  in  the  attitude  of  brooding. 
She  spoke  incisively,  as  if  she  cut  the  words  with  her 
teeth. 

"  That  is  how  he  proposes  to  make  money,  —  out 
of  my  book.  Don't  you  see  the  immorality  of  our 
living  here  together?  Don't  you  see  we  are  like 
strangers  ?  No  !  for  strangers  don't  hate  each  other." 

Elinor  was  a  hot-blooded  creature  of  another  kind, 
who  had  long  ago  sought  to  make  herself  dispassionate. 

"  Brice  does  n't  hate  you,"  she  said.  "  He  has 
wronged  you  in  this,  horribly,  but  he  has  n't  meant  to. 
He  does  n't  hate  you,  Kate." 

Katharine  drew  back  her  lips  until  the  white  line 
of  her  teeth  lay  bare. 

"  But  I  hate  him,"  she  said,  with  a  coldness  that 
stung.  "  If  it  is  n't  hatred,  I  don't  know  what  hatred 
is.  His  look,  his  voice,  the  way  he  walks,  —  they 
make  me  shudder.  And  yet  there  's  nothing  wrong 
about  him.  It 's  because  he  has  lived  with  me,  be 
cause  he  is  called  my  husband,  that  he  seems  in  a 
strange,  awful  way  to  be  a  hideous  travesty  of  myself. 
Elinor !  Elinor ! "  She  put  her  hands  before  her 
face,  and  began  sobbing  in  a  dry,  tempestuous  fashion 
more  rending  than  any  tears.  Elinor  rose,  and  in 
her  turn  walked  up  and  down  the  floor.  She  was  too 


REVOLT  69 

wise  to  essay  soft  touches,  in  the  ordinary  way  of 
woman's  comforting. 

"  You  've  got  to  be  just  to  him,  Kate,"  she  said  at 
last,  when  Katharine  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and 
looked  at  the  fire  with  haggard  eyes.  "  He  does  n't 
mean  any  harm." 

"  That 's  a  part  of  it.  I  have  married  a  man  who 
does  a  colossal  dishonesty  without  meaning  any  harm." 

"  That 's  your  vanity  ;  that 's  pride." 

"  It  is  pride.  Pride  is  n't  a  bad  thing.  Don't  be 
hard  on  me,  Nell." 

Elinor  stopped  in  her  slow  walk,  and  sank  for  a 
moment  on  her  knees  beside  her  friend.  She  gazed 
up  into  Katharine's  face,  and  her  own  look  was  one 
of  pure  and  earnest  love.  "  Hard !  "  she  repeated. 
"  Hard  !  I  only  want  you  to  be  just." 

But  Katharine  scarcely  saw  her  except  as  an  im 
personal  something,  who  would  hear  her  speak.  She 
gave  her  a  little  absent  touch  on  the  arm,  as  if  to  bid 
her  be  at  peace,  and  Elinor  rose  and  took  the  chair 
opposite.  Katharine  began  collectedly,  as  if  she  made 
her  own  defense  at  some  tribunal. 

"  I  do  not  understand  this  —  marriage.  I  have 
never  understood  it.  When  we  are  so  young  that  all 
the  world  looks  fresh  and  green,  and  every  leaf  has  dew 
on  it,  we  make  a  bargain.  We  make  it  with  our  souls 
—  our  outraged  souls.  Then  they  turn  and  plead  to 
us,  our  poor  souls.  They  beg  us  to  be  free.  We  ask 
the  church  to  let  us  go.  We  ask  the  law.  The  church 
and  the  law  say,  '  If  you  have  broken  your  oath,  you 
may  go.  If  you  have  injured  each  other,  if  you  have 
been  unclean,  full  of  hatred,  eaten  up  by  malice,  you 
may  go.  But  if  you  have  tried  to  fulfill  your  bond 


70  THE   MANNERINGS 

even  while  you  hated  it,  you  shall  not  go ;  if  you  have 
tried  to  be  just,  courteous,  forbearing,  still  longing 
to  escape,  you  shall  not  go.'  Elinor" — she  looked 
up  with  a  most  pathetic  earnestness  — "  Elinor,  I 
don't  hate  him.  I  wouldn't  hurt  him.  I  only  want 
to  go." 

"No!  no!  you  don't  hate  him.  You  could  n't. 
But,  Kate,  we  can't  escape.  We  are  not  the  only 
ones  concerned.  There  are  other  people." 

Katharine's  face  flamed. 

"  Is  it  better  for  other  people  ?  "  she  asked  passion 
ately.  "  Is  it  better  for  me  to  lie  and  lie,  every  day, 
all  my  life  ?  To  say  this  is  an  honorable  estate  I  am 
living  in,  whereas  I  consider  it  from  the  first  a  great 
dishonor?  To  smile  and  say  'my  husband,'  when  we 
are  strangers  ?  Elinor,  there  should  be  an  honorable 
discharge.  There  should  be  a  tribunal  of  good  men 
and  true  who  would  sit  down  and  judge  whether  two 
people  who  have  not  committed  unclean  things  should 
still  live  together  in  bondage."  She  listened.  "  Hark  ! 
Richard  is  going.  I  must  go  down,  dear.  I  must  see 
Brice  alone."  She  hurried  out  of  the  room  on  the 
closing  of  the  hall  door,  and  Elinor  heard  her  flying 
down  the  stairs. 

The  Captain  had  come  in,  and  he  stood  with  his  son 
before  the  fire.  He  was  laughing  softly,  the  senile 
mirth  of  an  unmeaning  age,  and  Brice,  his  hand  on  his 
father's  shoulder,  was  looking  into  the  fire,  smiling. 
Katharine  reflected,  as  she  entered,  that  it  was  easy 
for  him  to  indulge  a  creature  whose  habits,  sins,  and 
pleasures  were  his  own. 

"  Brice,"  she  said,  "  may  I  see  you  a  minute  ?  Will 
you  come  into  the  dining-room  ?  " 


REVOLT  71 

The  two  men  turned  as  one,  and  the  captain  noted 
her  pale  face. 

"  Has  anything  happened  ?  "  he  asked  solicitously. 

uNo,"  said  Katharine,  in  a  monotone  we  accord 
those  who  have  no  right  to  question  us,  "  nothing 
new.  Brice,  may  I  see  you  ?  "  In  spite  of  his  son's 
detaining  hand,  the  old  man  stepped  away  from  the 
fire,  and  making  a  little  bow,  went  out,  taking  his 
Homer  with  him.  He  was  not  curious.  He,  like  his 
son,  regarded  Katharine  as  a  problem  not  really  on 
the  whole  worth  solving,  but  very  agreeable  in  spite 
of  all.  Having  great  ascendency  over  creature  com 
forts,  she  was  not  bad  to  live  with. 

She  came  forward  with  a  specious  appearance  of 
calm,  and  took  one  of  the  chairs  by  the  fire. 

"  Sit  down,  Brice,"  she  said.  "  Please  sit  down." 
She  had  made  brief  resolutions  on  the  way  down 
stairs.  Anger  was  beside  her  purpose  ;  she  would  not 
show  it. 

Brice,  also,  had  been  resolving :  but  his  determina 
tion  was  not  the  affair  of  the  moment.  It  had  grown 
up  in  him  from  year  to  year.  It  was  the  culmination 
of  days  wherein  he  had  felt  the  goad  of  her  aversion, 
her  purpose  to  escape.  She  had  scorned  him  for  hav 
ing  no  initiative,  and  in  the  manner  of  a  slow  nature, 
he  had  stored  the  insults  until  now  they  were  a  force 
to  work  with.  This  moment  was  his  justification  for 
the  past.  He  braced  himself  for  the  onset,  and  knew 
he  should  not  yield.  But  it  seemed  as  if  he  might 
relinquish  an  advantage  in  sitting  down,  and  he  stood 
with  one  hand  on  the  mantel,  regarding  her. 

"  Brice,"  said  Katharine,  "  we  must  give  this  up." 

She  spoke  with  an  extreme  gentleness,  the  reaction 


72  THE   MANNERINGS 

from  her  anger.  But  such  quietude  armed  him  anew. 
He  shifted  to  the  other  foot,  and  took  a  better  pose. 
"I  can't  give  it  up,"  he  said  firmly.  "The  book  is 
out." 

"  It  is  under  your  control." 

"  Not  now.  The  dealers  have  got  it.  It 's  on  the 
news-stands.  I  've  sent  four  hundred  copies  for  re 
view." 

Katharine  looked  at  him  with  speculation  in  her 
eyes.  He  seemed  a  different  creature.  Under  the  im 
pact  of  the  moment,  even  his  face  had  changed.  It 
looked  younger,  full  of  purpose :  whether  a  good  pur 
pose  or  a  bad,  it  did  not  tell. 

"  Brice,"  said  she  curiously,  "  did  it  occur  to  you 
that  this  was  my  book  ?  " 

The  dispassionate  fall  of  her  voice  misled  him.  It 
bespoke  interest  and  nothing  more. 

"  I  was  acting  for  you,  Katie,"  he  said,  with  some 
patronage. 

"  But  you  left  me  in  the  dark.  Why  did  you  do 
that?" 

Mannering  was  not  altogether  sure  why  he  did  that. 
For  a  moment  he  hesitated,  held  by  an  honest  per 
plexity.  He  had  a  glimmering  sense  that  it  would 
have  been  impossible  to  act  with  her  concurrence.  All 
their  married  life  he  had  been  much  criticised,  in  a 
courteous  way  ;  it  had  been  taken  for  granted  that  in 
practical  exigencies  he  was  certain  to  do  wrong.  It 
was  true  that  his  methods  were  not  always  those  in 
ordinary  use,  but,  as  he  judged,  it  was  their  original 
ity  that  rendered  them  desirable.  He  had  gained  the 
slyness  of  the  weak,  or  the  man  fed  to  surfeit  on 
rebuffs.  Since  his  actions  never  met  with  approval, 


REVOLT  73 

he  had  long  ago  taken  the  safe  road  of  silence.  But 
all  this  unformulated  data  from  the  past  only  gave 
him  a  confused  feeling  that  it  had  been  impossible  to 
share  his  purposes. 

"  I  was  acting  for  you,"  he  repeated,  and  the  words 
seemed  to  him  adequate  ;  he  said  them  firmly. 

Katharine  was  looking  at  him  in  a  puzzled  musing 
new  to  her. 

"  Brice,"  she  said  at  last,  "  I  don't  know  you  in 
the  least.  After  all  the  years  we  've  been  together, 
I  don't  know  you." 

He  drew  himself  up  slightly.  It  was  easier  to  carry 
through  the  interview  than  he  had  hoped.  She  was 
accepting  him  in  his  new  part,  and  with  a  facility  he 
had  never  dared  expect. 

Katharine  sat  still  a  moment  looking  at  the  dying 
fire,  conscious  of  an  undercurrent  of  fear  lest  he  should 
throw  on  more  wood.  He  and  his  father  were  always 
building  up  crackling  blazes,  as  unsatisfying  as  the 
brawling  of  a  shallow  stream.  Yet  this  was  only  one  of 
the  things  she  hated  because  her  husband  liked  them. 

"  Brice,"  she  asked  at  length,  the  more  gently  as 
the  situation  puzzled  her  the  more,  "  why  did  n't  you 
put  my  name  on  the  title-page  ?  " 

It  was  an  innocent  question  meant  to  illuminate  the 
crannies  of  his  mind  ;  but  he  discovered  some  personal 
pique  in  it,  and  smiled.  He  began  to  scent  her  inter 
est,  even  a  possible  partnership.  Now  he  took  his 
chair,  and  sat  down  to  confidential  talk. 

"  Well,  you  know,  Katie,"  said  he,  "  that 's  really  a 
dodge.  It  piques  curiosity,  don't  you  see?  In  an 
other  edition  "  — 

"  No  !  no !  "     She  foresaw  him  introducing  her  to 


74  THE  MANNERINGS 

the  reading  world.  This  was  his  book.  His  wife 
had  written  it.  He  had  cleverly  printed  it.  But  she 
remembered  in  a  flash  how  crude  it  was,  how  young 
and  foolish.  There  would  be  no  more  editions. 
"  You  must  not  do  that,  Brice,"  she  said,  with  a  care 
ful  patience  calculated  to  impress  him.  "  My  name 
must  not  be  connected  with  it  in  any  way." 

"  Oh,  very  well !  very  well !  You  may  be  right. 
Mystery  is  a  good  card  —  good  as  any." 

"  And,  Brice,  the  book  —  the  copies  out  now  — 
they  must  be  recalled." 

He  laughed  in  tolerance  over  her  simplicity.  "  Bless 
you,  child,"  said  he,  "  they  can't  be.  Why,  they  're 
everywhere.  They  're  broadcast.  You  might  as  well 
recall  dandelion  seeds  after  they  've  begun  to  fly.  Or 
milkweed.  Milkweed,  now !  Do  you  know  what 
Home  says  in  his  4  Green  Boughs  '  about  milkweed  ? 
Says  it 's  good  for  greens,  the  young  tips.  Actually  ! 
I  came  on  the  paragraph  yesterday." 

Katharine  narrowed  her  eyes,  in  intensity  of  reflec 
tion.  But  she  did  not  look  at  him.  Her  gaze  took 
in  the  fire-dogs  and  the  embers. 

"  Brice,"  said  she  at  last,  u  you  have  been  extremely 
clever." 

"  That 's  awfully  nice  of  you,  Katie,"  he  said  hon 
estly.  "  I  fancy  I  have,  but  I  did  n't  know  you  'd 
take  it  so."  He  bent  over  to  kiss  her,  in  reward, 
but  even  the  well-meaning  peck  of  marital  approval 
seemed  tragically  significant.  She  pushed  her  chair 
back,  and  rose  violently. 

"  No !  no  !  "  she  cried,  too  sharply  for  the  present 
situation,  but  with  a  meaning  that  included  all  their 
past.  "  No  !  no  !  " 


REVOLT  75 

Mannering  looked  a  little  discomfited,  but  only  a 
little.  He  had  a  way  of  referring  her  onsets  and 
withdrawals  to  the  general  madness  of  womankind  ; 
he  never  considered  them  the  response  of  the  particu 
lar  woman  to  the  particular  man. 

"  You  're  a  funny  girl !  "  he  said  lightly,  and  picked 
up  the  evening  paper.  There  the  advertisement  took 
his  eye  again,  and  he  regarded  it  lovingly.  Katharine 
rose,  and  stood  for  a  moment  thinking,  her  gaze  on 
the  fire.  Then  she  turned  slowly  toward  the  door. 

"  I  must  talk  to  Mr.  Home  about  it,"  she  said,  in 
a  reflectiveness  meant  for  herself  alone,  yet  so  inno 
cent  that  it  included  Brice.  But  he  laid  down  his 
paper,  and  took  a  forward  step. 

"  No,  Kate,"  he  said  lightly,  but  with  some  hidden 
authority.  "  Don't  do  that." 

The  significance  of  his  tone  arrested  her.  "  Why  ?  " 
she  asked. 

He  was  still  smiling,  and  his  voice  had  the  airiness 
of  those  who  are  disguising  an  unwelcome  meaning 
under  a  graceful  finish. 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  "  nothing  !  Only  I  shall  be  jealous 
of  Home." 

Yet  he  was  only  taking  into  account  Home's  power, 
the  inevitable  effect  of  the  man's  will  when  he  really 
brought  it  to  bear.  Home  never  interfered  in  life 
save  when  he  was  forced  into  the  fray  by  some  most 
imperative  call ;  then  he  was  a  trenchant  foe. 

Katharine  was  looking  at  him  in  a  culminating 
amazement.  An  added  color  came  into  her  cheeks. 

"  I  am  ashamed,"  she  said,  "  ashamed !  " 

Then  she  went  upstairs. 


vin 

GUESTS 

NEXT  morning  at  the  breakfast  table  there  was 
little  talk.  Katharine,  her  cheeks  scarlet  and  her 
lips  a  scornful  line,  sat  behind  the  urn  and  dispensed 
housewifely  favors  with  a  careful  hand.  Brice  had 
trebled  his  suavity.  He  had  the  conciliatory  air  of 
a  dog  in  disgrace,  and  Katharine's  lightest  civility 
evoked  his  deference.  When  he  left  the  table  she 
followed  him  to  the  library  whither  he  had  gone  to 
fold  his  muffler  by  the  fire. 

"  Brice,"  said  she,  "  that  book  must  be  suppressed." 
Last    night's    tacit    victory   had    heartened    him. 
Brusqueness  had  served  him  then,  and  remembering 
that,  he  stood  the  more  firmly  on  his  feet   and  an 
swered,  — 

"  It  can't  be.     The  country  's  flooded  with  it." 
A  thought  struck  her,  ineffectual  until  now  in  the 
spiritual  impact  of  the  case.     She  voiced  it  without 
preamble. 

"  Where  did  you  get  your  money  ?  " 
His  eyelids  quivered,  and  his  face  grew  gray. 
"  Advertising  takes  money,"  she  said,  emboldened. 
"  Where  did  you  get  it?" 

The  spirit  had  gone  out  of  him.  The  old  tone  of 
blustering  weakness  broke  forth  waveringly,  and  he 
besought  her,  — 


GUESTS  77 

"  Katie,  you  let  me  manage  this  thing  in  my  own 
way.  We  're  in  difficulties." 

"We?  What  do  you  mean?  The  shop?  The 
business  ?  " 

Even  his  look  was  querulous.  He  wanted  her  to 
understand  without  the  necessity  of  explaining.  His 
own  ideal  of  marriage  would  have  implied  a  mate  who 
never  questioned,  never  criticised,  but  held  herself  in 
readiness  to  smooth  the  brow. 

"  We  're  in  difficulties,"  he  said.  "  We  owe  money, 
—  money  we  can't  pay." 

"  Did  you  borrow  it  ?  " 

He  retired  behind  the  one  defensive  word. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "I  —  borrowed  it." 

"  What  became  of  it  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  merciless 
directness. 

He  flew  into  fractious  passion.  "  Heavens,  Kate," 
he  cried,  "  what  does  become  of  money  ?  I  can't  ac 
count  for  everything  we  've  had  in  the  last  twenty 
years." 

"  I  can  account  for  everything  I  've  had,"  she  said, 
with  the  bitterness  sprung  from  those  old  grudges  that, 
silently  endured,  still  burn  and  aggregate,  —  "  food, 
clothes.  What  else  ?  " 

"  We  have  lived  well,"  he  said  assertively. 

"  We  have  lived  from  hand  to  mouth.  Sometimes 
I  think  you  don't  know  how  much  pains  it  has  taken 
to  keep  up  the  house  and  give  you  the  table  you  liked 
—  you  and  your  father." 

"  That 's  it,"  he  said  eagerly.  "  It 's  a  big  place. 
We  've  had  to  keep  it  up." 

Light  dawned  on  her. 

"  Is  it  possible,"  she  said,  "  that  I  've  been  a  fool  ? 


78  THE  MANNERINGS 

All  this  dickering  in  horses  and  cattle,  this  buying 
machinery  for  the  farm  —  has  that  taken  money  ?  " 

Mannering  looked  at  her  from  the  heights  forever 
destined  to  overtop  feminine  incapacity. 

"  What  else  did  you  think  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  must  have  been  a  fool,"  said  Katharine,  less  to 
him  than  to  herself.  "  I  have  looked  on  from  the 
outside.  I  had  a  pictorial  view  of  it.  I  should  have 
said  you  were  a  person  with  a  genius  for  trading.  I 
fancied  you  made  a  little  here  and  lost  a  little  there. 
I  dare  say  you  have  squandered  money  like  water." 
It  was  a  dispassionate  accusation.  The  words  stung, 
but  he  could  not  resent  them.  They  were  too  cold. 
"  I  see,"  she  said  slowly,  "  I  see.  You  are  in  debt. 
You  saw  the  emotional  possibilities  of  this  book.  You 
snatched  at  it  like  a  desperate  speculation.  You  bor 
rowed  money  to  float  it.  You  are  speculating  in  my 
braiiis  —  no,  not  my  brains.  There  's  no  brain  in 
the  book  —  but  there  's  blood."  She  stood  looking 
past  him  in  a  painful  musing.  He  watched  her  un 
easily,  thankful  that,  for  the  moment,  her  rage  had 
not  engulfed  them.  "  Well,"  she  said  at  length,  "you 
can  at  least  sell  the  house." 

It  roused  him. 

"  Sell  the  house !  "  he  repeated.  "  It  would  break 
my  father's  heart." 

She  had  always  preserved  the  outer  decencies  of 
speech,  but  at  that  moment  she  wished  to  say,  "  Your 
father  has  no  heart  to  be  broken."  Instead  she  con 
templated  the  situation.  "You  want  to  go  abroad 
with  him.  If  he  is  abroad,  he  won't  miss  it." 

Brice  was  at  once  alert. 

"  He  must  have  it  to  come  home  to,"  he  said  de- 


GUESTS  79 

cisively.  "  My  father  never  shall  see  that  roof  sold 
over  his  head." 

"  It  must  be  sold." 

"  It  can't  be  sold.     It  can't,  I  tell  you." 

"Why?" 

"  If  you  must  know,  it 's  mortgaged." 

"  Mortgaged !  It  can't  be.  You  'd  have  had  to 
get  my  consent." 

"  You  gave  your  signature." 

"  Never  !     I  never  did." 

"  It  was  five  years  after  we  were  married.  It  was 
one  evening.  Vane  Williams  was  playing  at  the  piano. 
You  were  listening.  I  brought  it  in  and  said:  'Here 's 
a  paper  for  you  to  sign.'  You  signed  it." 

"  Without  reading  it  ?  " 

"  You  did  n't  ask  to  read  it.  You  used  to  go  into 
a  kind  of  trance  when  Vane  Williams  played."  This 
was  no  covert  flout.  He  had  never  regarded  the 
trance  as  indicating  another  man's  emotional  ascend 
ency  :  it  was  only  a  medium  for  getting  her  signature 
without  troublesome  talk. 

"  To  whom  is  it  mortgaged  ?  " 

"  Gilbert  Home." 

She  started,  and  her  muscles  weakened. 

"  Has  the  interest  been  paid  ?  " 

"  Almost  always." 

"  That  means  not  at  all  —  or  not  for  years."  She 
stood  brooding  on  vacancy,  and  he  seized  the  moment. 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  cried  Mannering  fractiously.  "  I 
shan't  get  that  train !  "  He  was  gone  in  a  great 
flurry  of  reproachful  haste,  and  Katharine  went  slowly 
into  the  dining-room,  where  Elinor  stood  by  the  win 


dow  watching  the  winter  birds. 


80  THE  HANKERINGS 

"  Nell,"  said  Katharine,  "  Brice  is  too  clever  for 
me." 

44  How  is  he  too  clever  ?  " 

44 1  have  despised  Brice  all  my  life ;  but  now,  when 
there 's  actual  warfare  between  us,  he  is  bound  to 
defeat  me.  His  method  is  so  simple.  He  is  like  a 
man  standing  still  in  one  place,  and  hammering  away 
with  his  eyes  bandaged.  My  eyes  are  n't  bandaged : 
so  I  get  dazzled  by  the  sunlight  and  one  or  two  odd 
things.  But  Brice  never  varies." 

Even  up  to  this  point  Elinor  had  not  been  sure 
how  far  she  might  concern  herself  with  married  yoke 
fellows. 

44 1  should  have  said  the  power  lay  with  you,"  she 
ventured. 

44  So  should  I.  But  we  were  wrong.  He  is  n't  de 
terred  by  any  scruples.  He  has  embarked  on  a  course 
—  no,  he  has  set  off  trotting  along  in  a  rut  —  and  he 
is  going  to  stick  there.  Indeed,  he  can't  get  out  of  it. 
But  the  curious  part  of  it  is,  Elinor,  —  for  the  first 
time  in  all  these  years,  he  has  roused  in  me  some  idea 
of  the  community  of  interest  between  us." 

44  You  are  nearer  together  ?  " 

44  Not  an  inch  nearer  together.  You  'd  have  to  go 
back  to  the  beginning  of  time  and  abolish  race  differ 
ences,  to  bring  us  nearer  together.  But  somehow  this 
clogging  contract  holds.  When  you  pay  no  attention 
to  it,  it  seems  to  be  a  thing  of  air.  Disturb  it  by  a 
breath,  and  it  wakes  and  lays  a  cruel  hand  upon  you." 

44 1  don't  understand,  Kate.  You  '11  have  to  tell 
me  plainer." 

"  I  can't.  Brice  has  been  talking  to  me  about 
money  difficulties.  I  know  his  reason  for  this  gro- 


GUESTS  81 

tesque  scheme  of  making  money  by  the  book.  It 
is  n't  that  I  sympathize  with  him  in  the  least.  It 's 
only  that,  in  some  ghastly  way,  I  feel  responsible  for 
having  the  tangles  all  cleared  up.  They  are  his  mis 
takes  ;  yet  I  can't  persuade  myself  that  they  're  not 
mine,  too." 

"  I  see." 

Katharine  came  upright,  in  a  sudden  revolt  against 
her  own  egotism.  "  I  call  them  his  mistakes,"  she 
said ;  "  they  are  mine.  That 's  the  unbearable  part  of 
it.  I  have  lived  here  in  a  sort  of  emotional  debauch, 
and  kept  myself  ignorant  of  the  way  things  were 
going.  And  I  was  responsible.  The  vow  made  me 
so.  I  hate  the  vow  ;  I  loathe  it.  Yet  it  holds."  Her 
face  set  for  a  moment  in  lines  of  repugnance  for  what 
bound  her  against  her  will. 

"  It  has  always  been  so,  Nell,  always,"  she  de 
clared  passionately.  "  There  has  always  been  this 
warfare  between  the  woman  I  am  and  the  woman  I 
have  made  myself  by  marriage.  Not  for  a  minute 
have  I  been  his  wife  in  thought,  with  that  acquies 
cence  happy  women  feel ;  but  I  have  never  ceased 
to  be  bound  by  the  outer  obligations  of  the  tie.  I 
am  his  business  partner.  I  can't  leave  him  in  the 
lurch."  She  had  been  speaking  from  a  deep  absorp 
tion,  but  now  Elinor's  face,  the  sweet  trouble  of  it, 
arrested  her. 

"  I  make  you  horribly  uncomfortable,  don't  I  ?  "  she 
asked  frankly.  "  You  are  thinking  about  hearth 
stones,  wifely  betrayals,  all  the  rest  of  it.  Plainly, 
Nell,  I  can't  consider  that.  I  dare  say  I  've  deterio 
rated.  Fine  shades  are  immaterial  to  me.  I  'm  sorry, 
but  they  are." 


82  THE   MANNERINGS 

"  It 's  only  that  I  ought  to  go." 

"  I  want  you.  I  want  you  terribly.  Brice  would 
want  you,  too.  He  feels  safer.  A  guest  wards  off 
domestic  lightning." 

Natalie  stood  at  the  open  door. 

"  What  is  it?  "  asked  Katharine. 

The  girl's  face  wore  the  brilliancy  of  a  great  excite 
ment.  In  her  blue  dress  and  bright  hair,  with  her 
eyes  lighted  to  star  points,  she  was  so  impressive  that 
Katharine,  used  as  she  was  to  her,  regarded  her  curi 
ously.  When  Natalie  spoke,  there  was  an  odd  little 
catch  in  her  throat. 

"  Lorraine  is  coining !  " 

"  Lorraine  ?  " 

"  She  and  grandmother.  They  are  to  be  here 
to-night.  They  telegraphed  me.  They  are  my  guests, 
you  know.  That  must  be  understood." 

"  Splendid,  Natalie  !    How  glad  you  '11  be  !  " 

"  They  can  have  my  rooms,"  said  Natalie,  ignoring 
the  conclusion.  "  I  '11  go  up  into  the  third  story." 

She  ran  upstairs  and  began  to  assort  her  inti 
mate  belongings.  She  worked  with  an  accurate  haste, 
and  in  the  early  afternoon  her  task  was  almost  over. 
One  great  basket  still  remained,  and  Natalie  sat  on 
the  floor  beside  it,  piling  odds  and  ends,  and  there 
Dick  found  her.  Flushed  from  his  walk  in  the  sharp 
outer  air,  he  had  a  radiance.  She  schooled  herself  into 
the  responsiveness  that  hid  her  mind. 

"  Have  you  heard  from  her  ?  "    he  asked  quickly  t 

Natalie  stilled  the  feminine  impulse  to  question 
"  Whom  ?  "  and  answered,  — 

"  Lorraine  ?  Yes.  A  telegram.  They  are  com 
ing  to-night." 


GUESTS  83 

"  Are  you  going  to  give  her  these  rooms  ?  "  he 
queried,  with  the  same  untrammeled  eagerness. 

"  This  is  for  grandmother.  We  shall  move  a  bed 
in  here.  Lorraine  will  have  the  bedroom." 

"  Ah !  "  He  stood  for  a  moment,  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  and  then  turned  in  a  burst  of  feeling  and 
walked  to  the  window.  "  It 's  queer,  is  n't  it  ?  "  he 
exclaimed  at  last,  walking  back. 

"  Queer  about  their  coming  ?  Oh,  no !  it 's  like 
Lorraine.  She  has  been  in  Europe  a  long  time.  Did 
you  think  one  continent  would  contain  her  ?  You 
don't  know  Lorraine." 

He  spoke  softly,  in  a  way  that  stirred  her  blood. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  believe  I  ever  knew  her. 
Perhaps  now  I  shall  find  out.  She  is  older.  She  '11 
be  more  defined.  It 's  strange  she  's  coming." 

The  basket  was  full,  and  the  floor  cleared  of  its 
orderly  disarray.  Natalie  leaned  back  against  a  chair, 
and  sat  looking  at  him  with  a  weary  face. 

"  How  did  you  know  they  were  coming  ? "  she 
asked. 

"  Lorraine  wired  me.  I  am  to  meet  them  at  the 
station  and  bring  them  here." 

"What  train?" 

"  She  was  n't  sure."  He  spoke  innocently,  and 
Natalie's  lips  moved  in  the  smile  that  has  no  mirth 
in  it. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  you  can  keep  meeting  trains 
until  they  come." 

"  Oh,  yes !  Lorraine  never  did  know  where  she 
would  be  at  any  given  time.  Well,  I  '11  go  in  town 
again,  and  do  some  work  before  the  blow  falls."  He 
spoke  gayly.  He  had  the  alert  air  of  one  for  whom 


84  THE   MANNERINGS 

something  is  beginning.  At  the  door  he  paused  while 
she  watched  him ;  he  was  arrested  by  her  eyes.  They 
held  a  dumb  appeal  he  was  far  from  recognizing. 

"  Get  up,  Natalie,  child,"  he  commanded  lightly. 
"  Bid  me  good-by." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  I  can't,"  she  said.     "  I  'm  tired." 

"  Nonsense  !  —  at  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  ! 
You  're  never  tired." 

"  No,  I  'm  never  tired,"  said  Natalie,  "  but  I  shan't 
get  up.  Wait  a  minute.  What  did  you  come  for  ?  " 

"  I  was  afraid  you  had  n't  heard,"  he  called  back 
to  her.  "  I  wanted  to  know  whether  there  would 
be  room  enough.  Otherwise  I  should  take  them  to 
a  hotel." 

He  went  whistling  down  the  stairs,  and  she  heard 
him  at  the  library  door  talking  with  Elinor.  Natalie 
sat  still,  leaning  against  the  chair  in  the  sunlight  ; 
gradually  she  gave  up  her  sway  over  her  body,  and  it 
slipped  down  to  the  floor.  She  lay  there,  her  head 
against  her  arm,  until  Katharine  appeared  with  a  ser 
vant  to  prepare  the  room. 

Brice  Mannering  came  home  to  dinner  with  the 
blustering  innocence  of  a  man  not  quite  sure  of  the 
reception  he  is  to  meet.  But  everything  was  as  usual. 
His  father  was  watching  from  the  window,  and  had 
the  door  open  at  the  proper  moment. 

"  How  are  you  ?  "  said  each  man  bluffly. 

"  Katie  about  ?  "  asked  Brice. 

"  Katie  —  ah,  yes,  Katie  !  Katie  is  very  busy, 
very  much  occupied.  There  are  guests  coming,  my 
son,  guests.  Very  pleasant,  very  agreeable,  very  !  " 

"  Guests !  "    repeated    Brice,  taking   off   his    coat. 


GUESTS  85 

"  Well,  father,  we  '11  console  each  other.  Hullo,  Kate  ! 
read  the  book?  " 

Katharine  came  through  the  hall,  carrying  a  bowl 
of  roses  for  the  table.  Richard  had  sent  them.  Her 
color  was  high,  and  she  looked  undaunted.  Manner- 
ing's  heart  sank  perceptibly  as  he  noted  it.  When 
Katharine  wore  tin's  demeanor,  she  was  too  large,  too 
confident.  She  filled  up  the  room,  and  breathed  the 
air  away  from  him. 

"No,"  said  she,  "not  yet." 

"  The  book  ?  "  queried  his  father.  "  Ah,  yes,  the 
book,  your  book,  Brice  !  The  book  you  are  publish 
ing.  Very  interesting,  very !  " 

The  table  was  laid  with  the  two  extra  covers ;  but 
as  there  would  be  no  train  for  an  hour,  dinner  went 
on  at  once.  Elinor  looked  about  at  the  faces  with  an 
interest  responsive  to  their  intensity.  A  wave  of  life 
had  struck  the  household,  and  they  were  all  buoyed 
by  it.  Katharine  was  vivid  under  the  excitement  of 
her  anger  and  the  sense  that  she  had  at  last  started 
on  a  longed-for  road.  Natalie  quivered  with  expecta 
tion,  and  Mannering  looked  at  his  wife,  from  time  to 
time,  in  the  apprehensiveness  of  one  who  is  thankful 
at  least  for  present  calm.  Only  the  old  man  kept  his 
usual  composure,  though  he  glanced  about  in  a  pleased 
surprise  at  the  accelerated  social  pace. 

Dinner  was  over,  the  hour  passed,  and  no  one  came. 
Natalie  sat  in  a  dumb  quiet  by  the  fire.  She  was  the 
image  of  propriety,  but  Elinor  saw  a  pulse  beating  in 
her  cheek,  and  thought  it  meant  impatience.  It  was 
half  past  nine,  and  Katharine  had  just  said,  "  They 
won't  come  to-night,"  when  they  were  at  the  door. 
There  was  a  woman's  laugh,  a  long,  sweet  resonance, 


86  THE   MANNERINGS 

and  Richard's  overtook  it,  a  note  later,  and  chimed 
with  it  in  a  delightful  harmony.  Natalie  started  to 
her  feet,  and  glanced  about  her  as  if  the  room  seemed 
suddenly  too  close.  Katharine  hurried  to  the  door 
and  threw  it  open,  and  presently  they  were  all  there 
in  a  throng  of  welcome.  Lorraine  ran  up  the  steps 
and  into  the  hall.  She  gave  Katharine  a  kiss  on  the 
cheek,  and  then  threw  her  arms  about  Natalie  in  a 
pretty  warmth. 

"  Natalie  !  "  she  cried,  in  a  voice  as  joyous  as  her 
laugh.  "  Natalie  !  " 

Natalie  let  her  cheeks  be  kissed  and  then  stood  off 
a  little,  looking  at  her  sister,  and  Lorraine  looked 
back  at  her,  from  eyes  full  of  a  merry  challenge.  Lor 
raine  was  taller  than  she,  with  sweet  curves  not  too 
ample  to  be  girlish.  She  was  brown,  brown-eyed,  and 
warm  brown  of  hair,  with  a  flush  ever  surging  through 
a  delicate  skin.  She  gave  the  strongest  possible  im 
pression  of  being  all  alive,  from  the  tendrils  of  her 
hair  to  her  body  moving  with  a  perfect  grace.  Natalie 
breathed  fast,  responsive  to  that  vital  charm.  She 
felt  herself  shrink  and  fade,  as  if  it  emphasized  some 
meagreness  in  her.  She  knew,  without  turning,  that 
Richard  looked  also  ;  she  knew  his  breath  had  quick 
ened.  Meanwhile  Madam  Walsingham  had  come  up 
the  steps,  at  first  supported  by  Richard  and  delivered 
over  to  the  others,  who  received  her  ceremoniously. 
She  was  a  moving  echo  of  youth,  her  figure  as  slender 
as  a  girl's,  her  air  as  full  of  grace.  She  was  dressed 
like  an  old  woman  in  all  the  perfect  ways  devised  by 
art ;  but  there  was  something  incredibly  light  and  deli 
cate  about  it  all.  A  soft  black  fabric  clung  to  her, 
and  a  little  bonnet  fitted  her  head  completely.  Under 


GUESTS  87 

it  showed  some  soft  white  locks,  set  off  by  a  back 
ground  of  floating  lace.  She  was  swathed  to  the  chin 
in  lace,  the  square  chin  that  had  not  lost  its  contour  ; 
and  her  face  was  ivory  white  with  black  brows,  and 
great  black  eyes  intensified  by  the  shadows  darkling 
under  them. 

"  There  !  there  !  Lorraine,"  she  said,  in  a  contralto 
little  touched  by  age,  "  stand  aside.  Let  me  look  at 
Natalie.  Come  here,  child." 

Natalie  stepped  forward,  somewhat  confused,  not 
knowing  whether  she  was  to  be  kissed  or  not  by  a 
grandmother  who  had  not  seen  her  for  a  dozen  years. 
Madam  Walsingham  put  out  one  little  hand  and 
touched  her  arm,  while  everybody,  unaccountably 
hushed,  stood  still  to  listen. 

"  You  're  not  well,  child,"  said  the  old  lady 
brusquely,  but  with  a  hint  of  ineffable  kindliness 
underneath  the  tone.  "  What 's  the  matter  ?  " 

Natalie  gathered  herself. 

"  I  am  well,"  she  said,  "  very  well,  grandmother." 

"  Don't  call  me  grandmother.  Call  me  grannie,  as 
Lorraine  does.  Mrs.  Mannering,  may  I  have  a  cup 
of  tea  ?  "  The  sudden  query  came  with  a  smile  as 
quick.  It  folded  the  old  face  into  delicious  wrinkles, 
all  humorous  and  not  one  satirical. 

"  Please !  "  said  Katharine,  "  and  at  once.  Or  will 
you  go  upstairs  ?  The  kettle  is  boiling,  and  every 
thing  is  on  the  table." 

Madam  Walsingham  only  wanted  her  tea.  They 
had  dined  in  town  at  the  station  because  Lorraine  was 
hungry;  so  they  had  lost  the  train.  Lorraine,  she 
explained,  taking  her  cup  of  strong  tea  in  a  white 
hand  too  small  to  bear  so  many  jewels,  gave  herself 


88  THE  MANNER1NGS 

the  airs  of  a  prima  donna,  and  had  to  have  sustenance, 
like  a  baby,  when  the  hour  came.  This  was  said  with 
an  air  of  indifferent  sweetness,  and  Lorraine,  sitting 
at  the  further  end  of  the  table,  only  gave  a  brief  smile, 
and  went  on  talking  to  Natalie  and  Dick,  on  either 
side  of  her.  She  held  a  hand  of  each,  she  looked 
from  one  to  the  other  with  a  flashing  emphasis,  insist 
ing  that  they  should  love  to  see  her  the  centre  of  the 
talk  as  she  herself  loved  it. 

"  No  tea,  Mrs.  Mannering,"  she  said.  "  No,  thank 
you,  nothing.  I  really  dined.  And,  Natalie,  I  in 
vented  the  dances  myself.  At  first  I  gave  them  dif 
ferent  names,  all  about  things  alive  —  the  storm  dance, 
the  sunrise  dance,  the  beech  tree,  the  west  wind.  And, 
Dick,  —  the  music,  —  you  must  try  it  at  once.  It 's 
Roumanian,  echoes  of  everything  that 's  wild  and 
wonderful.  Levinski  did  it  for  me.  He  came  over 
with  us,  and  he  's  ill  in  New  York.  Come  and  try  it 
now.  Mrs.  Mannering,  may  we  ?  " 

Before  Katharine  could  assent,  Lorraine  was  gone, 
taking  the  other  two  with  her.  Madam  Walsingham, 
sipping  her  tea,  looked  round  the  assembly,  and  said 
coolly  as  one  speaks  of  the  weather,  — 

"  What  a  lot  of  handsome  people !  " 

Katharine  laughed. 

"  We?  "  she  asked.  "  Do  you  mean  us  ?  We  're 
not  used  to  flattery." 

"  You  look  like  a  party,  not  a  family,"  said  the  old 
lady,  with  an  astuteness  so  neutral  as  to  mean  nothing. 
"  You  are  so  different.  All  but  you  and  your  father," 
she  added  with  a  nod  at  Brice.  "You  are  exactly 
alike.  You  were  ten  years  ago." 

Brice    bowed   and  felt   immensely  flattered.     The 


GUESTS  89 

captain,  greatly  enjoying  the  atmosphere,  had  yet, 
in  his  seat  by  the  fire,  fallen  into  a  doze.  He  roused 
himself  with  a  start,  and  atoned  too  quickly  for  having 
slept. 

"  Brice's  eyes  are  much  like  mine,"  he  said,  "  the 
Mannering  eyes.  Now  as  to  eyes  —  my  dear  lady, 
have  you  ever  thought,  when  you  read  of  the  gray-eyed 
Pallas,  what  the  epithet  means  ?  Gray-eyed,  you  know. 
Now  what  does  that  suggest  to  you,  blue  or  gray  — 
gray  or  blue  ?  '* 

Brice  leaned  forward  and  spoke  hastily  as  if  he 
would  forestall  her  judgment. 

"  My  father  has  a  theory,"  he  said,  begging  her  in 
dulgence,  "  about  eyes,  you  know,  the  eyes  of  Pallas." 

She  nodded  composedly  at  the  old  man  who,  though 
he  was  a  year  or  so  her  senior,  seemed  incredibly 
young  beside  her.  "  We  '11  talk  about  it  to-morrow," 
she  said  indulgently.  It  was  a  tone  of  gracious  pat 
ronage,  but  the  captain  rather  seemed  to  like  it,  and 
smiled  off  into  his  doze  again.  Madam  Walsingham 
had  taken  her  last  sip  of  tea,  and  her  eyes  met  Eli 
nor's.  Elinor  sat  with  the  graceful  quiescence  of  one 
outside  the  group,  and  yet  ready  at  any  moment  to  be 
included  in  it. 

"  You  are  a  stranger,"  said  the  old  lady,  smiling  at 
her.  "  You  have  lived  in  Italy." 

"  Yes,  madame,"  said  Elinor,  with  a  charming  de 
ference. 

"  You  are  a  Catholic  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  I  have  no  church." 

"  Ah,  well,  you  've  the  Catholic  spirit  —  obedience, 
adoration.  It 's  very  beautiful ;  but  follow  your  blood 
while  it 's  young  enough  to  move,  my  dear,  follow  your 


90  THE   MANNERINGS 

blood.  Forgive  me,  I  'm  an  old  woman.  I  'm  going 
to  die  soon,  and  I  have  to  say  what  I  think.  Now, 
Mrs.  Mannering,  now  for  my  bed  ;  and  thank  you  for 
giving  me  a  bed  at  this  short  notice." 

They  went  into  the  hall  and  stood  a  moment  at  the 
library  door,  where  Dick  was  at  the  piano,  playing 
something  with  a  wildly  moving  measure.  Lorraine, 
in  the  middle  of  the  room,  stood  poised  like  a  statue. 
She  held  up  her  skirts  about  fine-shod  feet,  and  now 
and  then  took  an  illustrative  step.  Her  face  had 
changed  into  an  exhilarated  interest,  not  in  her  audi 
ence,  but  in  what  she  was  doing.  Natalie  stood  back 
against  the  wall,  watching,  fascinated,  and  yet  as  if 
she  longed  to  get  as  far  away  as  possible.  When  she 
saw  the  others,  she  came  swiftly  to  Madam  Walsing- 
ham  as  to  a  refuge. 

"  Grannie,"  she  said  in  a  whisper,  "  let  me  show 
you  to  your  room." 

Madam  Walsingham  said  good-night,  and  they  went 
upstairs  together. 

"  Can  I  get  you  all  you  want  ? "  asked  Natalie 
timidly,  as  they  entered  the  room.  "  Shall  I  call 
Lorraine  ?  " 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  old  lady,  still  with  that  sweet 
indifference,  "never  call  Lorraine.  Always  let  Lor 
raine  do  exactly  what  she  pleases.  I  do,  and  I  am 
extremely  popular.  When  you  are  seventy-eight,  like 
me,  remember  that  the  only  way  to  be  welcome  when 
you  are  old  is  never  to  interfere  in  the  pursuits  of 
younger  people." 


IX 

IN   ONE   FORENOON 

MADAM  WALSINGHAM  seated  herself  next  day  in 
the  great  window  looking  down  toward  the  village, 
and  stayed  there  holding  court.  Elinor  especially 
was  fascinated  by  her  even  flow  of  talk  about  things 
doing  in  literature  and  art.  She  had  traveled  every 
where.  She  spoke  of  chateaux  as  if  she  had  lived  in 
them  and  shared  their  early  history  like  their  present. 
Great  pictures  were  catalogued  and  hung  away  in  the 
galleries  of  her  mind.  Curiously  enough  she  had  the 
same  grasp  on  the  new  as  on  the  old  ;  she  had  at  her 
tongue's  end  the  names  of  men  who  were  possibili 
ties  as  yet,  and  others  who  had  died  after  their  futile 
grasp  at  the  bays.  She  talked  with  a  masterly  preci 
sion,  and  yet  indifferently,  as  if  the  art  of  life  con 
cerned  her  no  more  than  life  itself.  It  was  like  read 
ing  an  eccentric  book. 

"  You  make  me  feel  as  if  I  got  nothing  out  of  all 
my  years  in  Italy,"  said  Elinor,  at  last. 

"  You  got  something  I  never  could  have  had,"  said 
the  old  lady  conclusively.  "  What  did  you  have  a 
chance  to  get,  after  all  ?  You  lived  up  there  in  the 
mountains  with  your  father  and  the  peasants." 

"  I  might  have  studied.  We  did  read  a  great  deal, 
my  father  and  I,  but  I  never  put  my  heart  into  it." 

"  No.  You  were  young.  You  stayed  up  there  with 
your  youth  fermenting  and  bubbling  over  the  brim." 


92  THE   MANNERINGS 

Elinor's  eyes  widened  and  she  clasped  her  hands 
together  upon  her  knees.  Memory  was  keen  within 
her  of  flawless  days  up  there  above  the  world,  and 
nights,  when  the  violet  dusk  meant  nothing  to  her  but 
America,  and  another  heart  beating  there,  whether  for 
her  or  not  she  never  knew.  The  remembrance  of  the 
simple  people  who  had  loved  her  smote  her  with  a  great 
gratitude,  and  she  thought  with  self-pity  of  the  days 
when  she  had  tried  to  copy  their  worship  of  an  un 
known  God  until  life  seemed  nothing  but  obedience. 
The  old  lady  was  watching  her,  not  curiously,  but  with 
the  same  remote  yet  exact  attention  she  gave  to  life 
in  all  its  aspects. 

"  You  got  religion  up  there,"  she  said.  "  Yes,  it 's 
what  people  call  religion.  It 's  the  obedience  to  some 
thing  not  ourselves.  You  could  hardly  have  existed 
without  it.  I  should  say  you  got  something  more  in 
tense,  more  passionate,  than  if  you'd  been  with  folks  and 
taken  on  their  ways.  If  life  is  vibration,  you  got  that." 

Difficult  tears  had  come  into  Elinor's  eyes. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  got,"  she  said.  "  Only  now 
you  have  Italy  —  France,  too  —  in  your  pocket,  and 
I  only  know  I  've  lived  there." 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  old  lady,  "  when  you  're  as  old 
as  I  am,  the  game  is  over  —  the  game  of  life.  That 's 
all  there  is  worth  having.  It  was  over  very  early 
with  me.  Then  I  began  fitting  together  the  separate 
bits  of  the  puzzle,  and  I  chose  the  prettiest  remnants  I 
could  find  —  art  of  various  sorts.  You  get  very  tired 
of  piecing  life,  at  my  age.  Nothing  fits.  Art  is  a 
very  good  little  toy  in  a  universe  you  're  shy  of."  She 
stopped,  watching  the  two  sisters  across  the  hall ;  they 
were  sitting  at  a  window  looking  out  on  the  orchard^ 


IN  ONE   FORENOON  93 

Lorraine  was  talking  and  laughing  in  a  bubbling  key. 
One  would  have  said  she  was  having  the  happiest  mo 
ment  of  her  life  ;  but  Lorraine  was  always  happy. 
Natalie  had  some  white  work  in  her  lap,  and  now  and 
then  she  took  a  stitch. 

"  Natalie  has  a  soul,  has  n't  she,"  said  the  old  lady 
musingly.  "  Is  n't  that  unfortunate  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Natalie  has  a  soul,"  answered  Elinor,  follow 
ing  her  gaze. 

"  Lorraine  has  n't,"  said  Madam  Walsingham  with 
great  satisfaction.  "  That 's  why  Lorraine  is  so  delight 
ful.  That 's  why  we  let  her  drag  us  round  at  the 
cart's  tail,  and  like  it.  She  's  dragged  me  all  over 
Europe.  My  old  bones  ache  with  following.  But  I 
would  n't  give  up  Lorraine." 

"  She  is  very  beautiful." 

"  She  is  a  picture  of  adorable  youth  and  happiness 
that  will  always  be  happy  because  it  does  n't  fret  after 
the  unseen  or  care  who  goes  to  the  wall.  If  you  're 
sick  or  sorry,  if  it  rains  or  thunders,  all  you  've  got  to 
do  is  to  look  at  Lorraine  and  see  a  summer's  day. 
When  I  was  in  Venice,  I  nearly  died  one  night  of  pleu 
risy.  Lorraine  was  going  to  take  care  of  me.  She 
kissed  me  good-night ;  she  said  '  Poor  Grannie  ! '  and 
lay  down  beside  me  and  slept  like  a  baby.  I  grinned 
into  the  dark,  whenever  I  could  catch  my  breath.  I 
knew  how  sweet  and  sound  she  'd  be  in  the  morning." 

At  that  moment  the  two  girls  left  their  place  in  the 
window  and  came  across  the  hall.  Natalie  wore  a 
tired  face. 

"  Natalie,"  said  the  grandmother,  "  you  're  very 
much  in  love  with  that  young  man  you  're  engaged  to, 
are  n't  you  ?  —  that  young  Home  !  " 


94  THE   MANNERINGS 

Natalie  crimsoned  to  her  hair. 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Madam  Walsingham,  "  you  are 
engaged  to  him.  Lorraine,  Natalie  is  engaged  to 
young  Home.  You  know  that,  don't  you  ?  " 

The  question  came  with  precision,  but  Lorraine  re 
ceived  it  as  lightly  as  one  might  catch  a  feather.  She 
only  put  her  cheek  against  her  sister's,  as  they  stood 
there,  and  said,  "  Dear  Natalie !  " 

"  It 's  dear  everybody  with  Lorraine,"  said  Madam 
Walsingham.  "  It  saves  her  from  distinctions." 

"  Ah,  there  's  Mr.  Home  !  "  said  Lorraine  suddenly, 
a  light  in  her  brown  eyes.  "  Is  n't  it,  Natalie  ?  I  '11 
ask  him  myself."  She  was  out  of  the  room  as  Gil 
bert  Home  opened  the  front  door  and  stepped  into 
the  hall.  She  greeted  him  with  a  charming  grace. 

"  Mr.  Home,  won't  you  shake  hands  with  me  ?  And 
may  n't  we  have  tea  in  your  house  in  the  woods  ?  Dick 
used  to  write  me  about  it." 

Gilbert  brought  the  winter  air  in  with  him.  He 
seemed  to  Lorraine  more  of  a  man  than  she  had  yet 
met  in  America,  and  her  nostrils  widened.  He  dropped 
her  hand  after  an  instant,  though  he  still  looked  at  her 
with  a  grave,  elderly  indulgence. 

"  You  may  have  tea  in  the  house  in  the  woods,"  he 
said,  "  but  not  to-day.  I  came  over  to  ask  you  to 
eat  a  civilized  supper  with  me  at  my  house  at  six 
o'clock." 

"  The  house  you  live  in  ?" 

«  Yes." 

"  But  why  not  the  house  in  the  woods  ?  " 

"  It  is  n't  big  enough.  Besides,  the  chimney  smokes, 
and  the  owls  have  built  nests  in  the  rafters,  and  the 
doors  won't  shut  nor  the  windows  open." 


IN   ONE   FORENOON  95 

"  You  mean  you  won't  have  us  ?  " 

Gilbert's  eyes  smiled  at  her,  and  as  Katharine 
appeared  from  the  dining-room,  he  called,  — 

"  Mrs.  Mannering,  will  you  bring  your  family  over 
to  supper  ? " 

She  came  to  the  doorway  and  leaned  against  the 
casing,  looking  at  him.  She  was  not  thinking  about 
these  trivial  affairs  save  as  they  concerned  her  pur 
pose.  She  had  stayed  awake  nearly  all  night,  plan 
ning  her  life ;  but  vigils  made  no  impression  on  her 
splendid  health. 

"  Do  you  want  us  ?  "  she  asked  absently. 

"  Dick  wants  it,"  he  answered,  lowering  his  tone. 

Katharine  crossed  the  hall  to  ask  Elinor  and  Ma 
dam  Walsingham,  and  Lorraine  looked  up  in  Home's 
face  with  the  air  of  a  charming  child  too  intent  on  its 
game  to  care  who  plays  it,  so  it  still  keeps  on. 

"  Is  there  a  piano  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Yes,  there  's  a  piano." 

"  I  '11  put  on  my  gold  tissue,  and  let  you  see  me 
dance."  She  spoke  with  a  pleasure  so  real  that  Home 
felt  his  blood  pump  a  little  under  it,  and  just  then 
Katharine  came  back  to  say  conventionally  that  they 
would  come. 

"  I  'm  going  down  after  fal-lals  for  supper,"  said 
Home  to  Katharine.  "  I  '11  get  your  mail." 

The  door  closed  behind  him,  and  Lorraine  laughed. 

"  I  believe  the  man  snubbed  me,"  said  she,  with 
lifted  brows.  "  Bless  his  heart !  Come,  Natalie  — 
we  '11  have  out  my  gold  tissue.  There  's  a  rip  under 
the  arm.  Can  you  sew,  child  ?  I  '11  warrant  you  can, 
you  neat  thing.  Dear  Natalie  !  " 

As  soon  as  she  could  leave  Madam  Walsingham, 


96  THE  HANKERINGS 

Elinor  ran  upstairs  for  her  hat  and  jacket,  and  hur 
ried  out  at  the  side  door.  Katharine,  absorbed  in  the 
tempest  of  her  own  brewing,  would  not  miss  her,  and 
she  was  suddenly  impatient  of  the  house,  and  hungry 
for  a  spot  she  knew.  The  day  was  of  the  sort  that, 
in  the  midst  of  winter,  shows  incredible  promise  of  a 
far-off  spring.  There  was  even  a  blue  haze  in  the 
distance,  and  flocks  of  little  brown  birds  rose  from 
roadside  branches  as  she  passed,  to  settle  further  on. 
She  kept  the  road  to  the  gap  in  the  wall,  and  then 
took  the  cart  path  into  the  woods.  There  she  stopped 
and  looked  about  her,  free  of  the  atmosphere  of  the 
house  and  the  minds  of  people.  The  depth  of  the 
woods  intensified  her  idea  of  their  extent.  As  far 
as  she  could  see,  straight  trunks  rose  to  the  upper 
air,  where  their  tops  kept  a  soft,  unceasing  monotone. 
She  shut  her  eyes,  and  then  opened  them  to  a  gladder 
sense  of  peace.  Her  long  homesickness  was  stilled  at 
last,  and  she  felt  the  buoyancy  of  one  to  whom  an 
idea  of  years  has  suddenly  become  real.  She  went 
on,  very  light  of  foot,  to  the  house  in  the  woods, 
paused  a  moment  in  the  little  clearing,  and  then 
pushed  the  door  open  and  stepped  in.  Some  one  had 
been  there  that  morning.  The  embers  were  red,  with 
a  veiling  ash,  and  the  air  was  sweet  from  woody 
resins.  She  stopped  a  moment,  the  blood  mounting 
to  her  cheeks,  because  the  stillness  spoke  so  palpably 
of  Home.  Yet  all  the  members  of  the  two  houses 
came  there  when  they  pleased,  one  to  read,  another  to 
muse.  She  was  not  even  an  intruder,  and  she  drew 
off  her  gloves  and  sat  down  in  a  content  so  deep  that 
it  was  like  a  compensating  rapture  for  long  absence. 
She  shut  her  eyes  again,  and  withdrew  into  her  dream. 


IN  ONE  FORENOON  97 

The  walls  were  dear,  —  every  inch  of  wood  Gilbert 
Home  had  laid  with  his  own  hand  to  make  the  house  ; 
everything  about  her  had  vibrated  to  his  breath.  Yet 
there  seemed  some  boldness  in  espial  while  he  was 
away.  The  hospitality  of  a  chair  at  his  fireside  was 
enough  for  her  desires,  vagrant  as  they  were.  There 
was  a  step,  and  the  door  swung  in. 

"I  knew  you  would  n't  mend  the  fire,"  said  Home. 
Her  eyes  started  open,  but  she  did  not  move.  He 
could  never  surprise  her ;  he  only  brought  a  sense  of 
new  completion.  "  Yes,  I  started  for  the  village," 
he  went  on,  as  if  she  had  spoken,  "  but  I  knew  you 
would  post  down  here  as  soon  as  you  were  sure  of 
solitude.  I  '11  go  when  I  Ve  fixed  the  fire."  He 
brought  two  logs  from  a  recess  behind  the  fireplace, 
and  coaxed  the  blaze  with  a  handful  of  pine  cones. 
When  it  was  crackling  up  over  the  bark,  and  the 
cones  were  red  transparencies,  exceeding  their  own 
first  beauty,  he  sat  down  on  the  other  side  of  the 
hearth.  "Yes,  I  '11  go  in  a  minute,"  he  promised, 
smiling  at  her. 

Elinor  smiled  back  without  speaking. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  he  said.  "That  was  always  an 
irritating  way  you  had.  You  would  n't  contradict, 
but  you  knew  perfectly  well  what  I  meant  to  do.  You 
think  now  I  'm  not  going  at  all.  Well,  I  'm  not.  I  'm 
going  to  talk.  I  have  n't  talked  for  years.  I  waited 
for  you  to  come." 

Elinor's  face  sprung  into  so  warm  a  beauty  that, 
looking  at  her  dispassionately  as  he  spoke,  she  star 
tled  him. 

"  It 's  quite  true,"  he  continued  argumentatively.  "I 
have  grown  more  and  more  silent.  It  is  n't  because 


98  THE  MANNERINGS 

I  'm  reserved.  It 's  because  I  've  had  nothing  to  say. 
But  you  're  the  key  that  opens  all  locks.  I  told  you 
so  before." 

"  Talk,"  said  Elinor,  leaning  her  head  back  on  the 
tall  chair  and  looking  into  the  fire.  "  Tell  me  every 
thing  that  happened." 

"Where  shall  I  begin?" 

"  When  I  went  away." 

He  was  silent  a  moment,  also  musing  over  the  fire. 
A  deep  frown,  like  a  cut,  came  between  his  eyes. 

"  There  is  n't  a  blessed  thing  to  tell,"  he  said  at 
last.  "I  have  simply  lived  here  and  grown  into  a 
vegetable.  I  Ve  had  no  ambitions.  I  only  thought 
I  ought  to  have  them  —  no  loves,  no  hatreds.  The 
people  that  reviewed  my  poor  little  books  accuse  me 
of  having  a  passion  for  nature.  It 's  no  such  thing. 
I  only  feel  more  at  home  out  of  doors.  Some  of  the 
fellows  I  used  to  know  in  college  say  when  they  meet 
me, '  You  're  not  married,  poor  old  man ! '  They  think 
I  'm  lonely.  I  'm  not  lonely.  I  merely  half  exist,  as 
I  understand  other  people's  existence." 

The  words  hurt  her.  She  had  come  back  with  so 
definite  an  idea  of  him,  his  place  in  life,  his  big  de 
sires,  that  he  seemed  to  be  repudiating  the  angel  of 
himself  which  she  had  wrought.  It  swept  bewilder- 
ingly  upon  her  that  because  she  had  felt  bereft  with 
out  him  she  had  made  the  woman's  mistake  of  as 
suming  his  bereavement  without  her.  Womanlike, 
she  picked  out  the  phrase  that  hurt  her  most  and 
dwelt  upon  it. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  you  are  not  lonely.  That 's  good. 
You  are  happier  so."  Yet  she  believed  she  lied ;  for 
a*j  she  spoke,  her  heart  yearned  for  his  head  upon 


IN  ONE  FORENOON  99 

it,  and  the  comforting  she  could  give  in  some  of 
those  unseen  ways  where  women  must  companion 
men. 

"  I  am  not  happier,"  said  Home.  "  I  am  safer.  I 
am  as  safe  as  that  pine-tree  out  there  till  some  one 
cuts  him  down." 

A  dull  ache  began  within  her.  He  was  breaking  a 
beautiful  dream.  Through  those  years  away  from  him 
she  had  seen  her  ideal  of  him  grow  and  strengthen  to 
withstand  the  ills  of  life.  To  bring  him  gifts  —  love, 
loyalty,  delight  —  had  seemed  worth  any  pain.  But 
now  he  denied  wanting  anything.  He  turned  the 
fabric  of  her  dreaming  into  something  very  poor. 
She  took  up  her  gloves,  and  he  looked  at  her. 

"  You  're  not  going  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a  quick  com 
punction.  "  I  Ve  bothered  you  somehow.  I've  spoiled 
your  morning." 

"  No,  you  've  been  very  kind."  She  tried  to  turn 
the  current  of  their  talk.  "  Why  did  you  tell  that 
pretty  Lorraine  she  could  n't  have  her  tea  here?  " 

"  I  don't  like  her  much,"  he  answered  absently,  still 
watching  her  face,  and  plainly  speculating  over  the 
cloud  upon  it.  "  She  's  going  to  worry  Natalie." 

"  Worry  Natalie  ?  " 

"  Yes,  over  Dick.  Lorraine  is  his  fixed  idea.  If 
he  had  married  her  years  ago,  he  'd  have  found  out 
her  mystery.  That 's  what  bewitches  him,  and  it 's  no 
mystery  at  all.  She  sways  everybody  a  bit,  she  's 
such  a  healthy  little  animal.  I  wish  I  knew  how  I 
troubled  you." 

Elinor  was  at  the  door,  and  he  turned  to  open  it  for 
her.  She  seemed,  he  thought  suddenly,  to  be  another 
sort  of  person.  There  was  remoteness  in  her  air,  a 


100  THE  MANNERINGS 

fine  withdrawal.     She  did  not  speak  conventionally, 
but  her  tone  put  him  a  long  way  off. 

"  You  did  n't  trouble  me  ;  but  I  Ve  rested,  and  now 
I  '11  go  on."  She  nodded  at  him  again  familiarly,  and 
took  the  forest  path,  while  he  stood  at  the  door  watch 
ing  her,  that  puzzled  frown  cut  deep  into  his  face. 


HIGH   TEA   AT    HORNE'g 

IT  was  a  magnificent  high  tea  at  Gilbert  Home's. 
Old  Sally,  careful  of  her  credit  and  his,  fried  chicken, 
made  coffee  and  little  biscuits,  and  chuckled  behind 
the  dining-room  door  when  she  heard  them  praised. 
Cassie  served  them,  and  stepped  about  the  table  with 
her  head  held  high  in  a  pose  of  pride.  She,  too,  wanted 
Gilbert  Home's  party  to  go  off  well.  In  his  own 
house  he  was  no  longer  a  silent  man.  The  exactions 
of  hospitality  lay  heavily  upon  him,  and  he  assumed 
an  alertness  yielding  him  no  enjoyment.  He  talked  a 
great  deal,  chiefly  with  Lorraine,  because  she  willed  it, 
while  her  grandmother  punctuated  the  dialogue  with  a 
ruthless  commentary. 

"  Now  I  '11  dance  for  you,"  said  Lorraine,  when 
they  rose  from  the  table.  "  You  want  me  to,  don't 
you,  Mr.  Home  ?  " 

"Very  much,"  said  Gilbert.  He  was  following 
them  into  the  library,  and  he  gave  Cassie,  where  she 
stood  with  folded  hands,  a  smile  in  passing.  Her  face 
kindled,  and  Elinor,  turning  by  chance,  saw  it  and 
throbbed  with  understanding.  Here  was  another 
woman,  she  knew  at  once,  who  cared  about  Gilbert 
Home,  and  whose  language  never  reached  him.  He 
found  Madam  Walsingham  the  most  comfortable 
chair,  and  brought  her  a  footstool.  Then  he  piled  up 
the  fire,  and  turned  to  face  them  where  they  had  dis- 


102  THE  MA^NERINGS 

posed  themselves.  "  May  she  dance,  Madam  Wal- 
singham  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  she  must,"  said  the  old  lady.  "  Lorraine 
won't  be  satisfied  unless  she  is  the  centre  of  the  pic 
ture.  She  dances  very  well,  too." 

Madam  Walsingham  was  dressed  in  black  that  came 
high  in  the  throat  and  long  over  her  little  hands. 
A  black  lace  mantilla  shrouded  her  hair  and  was  tied 
loosely  under  her  chin.  Her  small  face  seemed  even 
tragic  in  the  intensity  of  its  contrasting  hues.  Yet 
she  was  the  one  person  present,  save  perhaps  Lorraine, 
who  had  a  fixed  distaste  for  melancholy. 

The  piano  was  in  a  corner  facing  the  room.  Rich 
ard  took  his  place  there,  and  began  running  over  swift 
threads  of  melody  out  of  the  manuscript  Lorraine  gave 
him.  He  was  flushed  and  eager.  Natalie  could  guess 
how  his  eyes  dilated  with  the  excitement  of  the  mo 
ment,  but  she  did  not  look  at  him.  Lorraine,  in  her 
dress  of  golden  tissue,  stood  by  him,  a  hand  on  his 
shoulder,  and  talked  rapidly.  As  she  spoke,  she 
shifted  her  pose,  and  illustrated  with  her  eyes  and 
hands,  like  one  too  full  of  life  not  to  put  an  overflowing 
vigor  into  every  act.  She  turned  to  the  others  now. 

44 1  am  ready,"  she  announced,  in  her  bell-like  voice. 
44  This  is  the  invocation  —  Levinski  says  —  4  to  the 
dawn.'  "  She  advanced  gravely  into  the  open  space, 
and  stood  poised,  her  bare  arms  lifted,  her  face  clamor 
ous  with  life.  The  girl  seemed  a  teeming  censer  to 
being  as  it  is,  not  as  we  would  make  it.  Elinor  felt 
her  own  pulse  quicken.  Beautiful  images  occurred  to 
her,  in  swift  succession,  like  the  figures  in  a  lovely 
frieze.  Her  mind  flew  back  to  the  youth  of  the  world, 
when  gods  walked  with  men,  and  to  be  was  to  breathe 


HIGH  TEA   AT   HORNE'S  103 

in  beauty  like  the  ajr.  She  was  conscious  that  Lor 
raine  moved  in  a  sweet  rhythm  to  the  melody,  that 
her  arms  wove  invisible  spells  the  eyes  ached  to  re 
member  forever,  and  that  her  feet  beat  out  a  noiseless 
harmony.  And  still  the  accompanying  dream  went  on, 
filled  with  crowding  images  :  gods  descending  for  hu 
man  joyance,  shepherds  crushing  thyme  on  Hymettus, 
altars  weighted  with  floral  sacrifice,  kine  upon  broad 
meadows,  and  then  again  the  oxen  decked  for  innocent 
triumphs,  their  foreheads  wound  with  wreaths.  The 
dancer  stopped  upon  a  pose  as  light  as  Mercury's,  and 
on  the  moment  Madam  Walsingham,  who  had  been 
watching  Elinor  with  an  odd  little  smile,  bent  forward 
and  touched  her. 

"  What  did  you  think  of  ?  "  she  asked,  under  cover 
of  the  plaudits  from  the  rest,  led  noisily  by  Brice. 

"  Italy  —  Greece  —  I  believe,"  said  Elinor,  con 
fusedly.  She  lifted  a  hand  to  her  forehead.  "  Old 
times  —  times  that  never  were." 

Madam  Walsingham  nodded  her  head  and  smiled 
triumphantly. 

"  It 's  always  so,"  she  said.  "It's  hypnotism.  It's 
not  her  dancing.  That 's  good  enough.  It 's  even 
beautiful,  but  the  effect  of  it  is  out  of  all  proportion. 
I  always  select  the  most  sensitive  person  in  the  com 
pany  and  ask  him  what  he  saw.  It 's  always  the 
same  :  Greece  —  Italy  —  the  things  that  never  were." 

"  The  most  sensitive  person  !  Then  why  not  Na 
talie?" 

"  Natalie  did  n't  see  it.  She  watched  the  young 
man  play." 

Natalie  was  sitting  in  a  low  chair  by  the  fire.  She 
had  been  regarding  Dick.  Her  face  was  calm,  but  it 


104  THE   MANNERINGS 

wore  a  concentrated  look,  as  if  she  had  put  all  her 
forces  into  one  act  of  will.  She  was  conscious  of  that ; 
he,  she  knew,  braiding  the  music  with  Lorraine's  mo 
tion,  was  like  one  moving  in  a  rapturous  calm,  far  out 
to  sea,  and  every  breath  of  hers  recalled  him.  She 
tried  to  break  the  spell,  and,  as  if  she  had  succeeded, 
he  got  up,  flushed  with  pleasure,  and  came  over  to  her. 

"  What  is  it,  Natalie  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  smiled  brilliantly  up  at  him.  It  was  a  brief 
triumph,  but  it  heartened  her. 

"Nothing,  Dick,"  she  said. 

Lorraine  had  seated  herself  on  a  cushion  and 
thrown  both  her  arms  across  Natalie's  knees.  For  a 
moment  she  rested  there,  and  then  raised  her  face, 
flushed,  but  not  tired. 

"  I  love  it,"  she  murmured  thrillingly.  "  I  love  to 
dance." 

Katharine  spoke  with  a  charming  grace  :  "  There  is 
nothing  to  add  after  your  dancing.  It 's  too  beauti 
ful.  It  makes  everything  commonplace.  We  can't 
say  '  Thank  you.' ' 

"  Shall  I  dance  again  ? "  asked  Lorraine  quite 
eagerly,  springing  to  her  feet.  She  turned  to  Home, 
"Shall  I?" 

"  Yes,  dance  again,"  he  answered.  It  had  stirred 
him,  too,  not  toward  visions,  but  the  desire  of  life. 
He  hardly  knew  this  keener  mood.  While  Dick  was 
preluding,  Home  slipped  out  of  the  room,  and  pre 
sently  returned  with  Cassie.  She  halted  in  the  door 
way,  unwilling  to  advance,  and  Elinor  motioned  her 
to  a  chair.  The  girl  shook  her  head,  and  stood 
there  in  an  unconsidered  pose,  Gilbert  waiting  be 
side  her  with  a  gentle  deference.  Elinor  thought  no 


HIGH   TEA  £T  HORNE'S  105 

more  of  Italy,  even  with  a  bacchante  dance  beating 
into  ecstasy  before  her ;  she  only  noted  that  the  man 
and  woman,  complementing  each  other,  typified  the 
strength  of  the  earth.  Old  Sally  stood  back  among 
the  shadows  and  watched  them  all.  Her  blood  also 
mounted.  She  could  have  danced  all  night,  she 
thought,  under  a  growing  moon,  and  shown  these  peo 
ple  what  things  are  possible  on  the  earth.  Before 
Lorraine  had  ceased,  Cassie  slipped  away,  and  then 
Home  came  back  to  the  fire  and  sat  down. 

"  I  am  going  to  dance  in  public,"  Lorraine  volun 
teered  to  Katharine. 

Dick  let  his  clever  hand  blunder  upon  a  chord. 
He  got  up  from  the  piano,  and  came  forward.  "  No," 
he  said.  "  No !  " 

Lorraine  looked  up  at  him  with  a  willful  roguery 
calling  out  a  dimple  in  her  cheek. 

"  Yes,"  she  insisted.  "  Yes.  If  Levinski  does  n't 
get  better  soon,  you  '11  have  to  go  and  play  for  me." 

Natalie  dropped  her  fan  ;  but  though  Richard  was 
near  her  he  did  not  see  it,  and  Brice  Mannering  re 
stored  it  with  a  punctilious  bow. 

"  You  are  quite  right,  Lorraine,"  he  said,  "  quite 
right.  I  have  seldom  seen  dancing  which  —  in  fact, 
I  never  saw  dancing  in  any  degree  like  it." 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  began  the  captain,  rousing 
himself  in  the  haste  of  one  unexpectedly  summoned, 
"  it  is  unusual,  most  unusual.  I  can  think  of  nothing 
but  a  nymph  —  nymphs,  you  know,  nymphs.  Now 
old  Homer  says  —  by  the  way,  when  we  hear  of  the 
gray -eyed  Pallas,  what  should  you  say  the  epithet 
might  mean  ?  The  gray-eyed  Pallas  !  " 

"  I  don't  know  who  she  was,"  said  Lorraine  drow- 


106  THE  MANNERINGS 

sily,  yet  with  a  perfect  deference.  "  Pallas  ?  You 
tell  me,  Captain  Mannering." 

The  old  man  drew  his  chair  nearer,  delighted  with 
an  auditor,  and  Lorraine  listened  smilingly.  But 
Madam  Walsingham  noted  presently  that  the  dia 
logue  had  left  Pallas  and  come  home  to  dancing. 

When  they  went  back  that  night  by  the  path 
through  the  orchard,  Lorraine  and  Dick  were  walking 
together,  she  in  the  track  and  he  through  the  snow 
beside  her.  She  was  explaining  her  plan  of  getting 
before  the  public,  first  in  smaller  towns  and  then, 
suitably  heralded,  in  the  cities. 

"  You  '11  come  and  play  for  me,  Dick,"  she  was  say 
ing,  in  a  tone  quite  anxious  in  its  coaxing  quality. 
"  Don't  you  think  you  '11  come  ?  " 

Natalie,  afraid  of  hearing,  stepped  out  into  the 
snow  and  passed  them.  She  hurried  on  to  the  house, 
and  when  good-nights  were  said,  she  had  gone  to  her 
own  room. 

As  Elinor  was  closing  her  chamber  door,  Katharine 
came  running  up  the  stairs.  Her  face  was  brilliant 
with  life  and  color. 

"  Give  me  a  minute,"  she  said.  "  Let  me  leave  the 
door  ajar.  I  want  to  hear  Brice  when  he  comes  down 
from  his  father's  room.  Elinor,  that  girl  makes  one 
feel  alive." 

"  Lorraine  ?  " 

"  Lorraine,  of  course.  I  love  her  without  loving 
her,  because  she  's  overflowing  with  sheer  life  and  the 
worship  of  it.  I  'm  grateful  to  her.  I  hate  her,  too. 
She  's  got  youth,  Nell,  youth  !  " 

"  We  don't  care,"  asserted  Elinor,  putting  an  arm 
about  the  great  firm  shoulders.  "  We  Ve  had  it." 


HIGH  TEA  AT   HORNE'S  107 

"  Ah,  but  to  what  end  ?  You  wasted  yours  clois 
tered  up  in  those  mountains.  I  wasted  mine  here  play 
ing  volcano  —  emitting  fire,  smoke,  ashes,  and  lava. 
We  ought  to  have  children  ten  or  twelve  years  old, 
and  be  reconciled  to  increasing  girth  and  aging  hands. 
Your  hands  are  exquisite,  Nell.  Mine  are  middle- 
aged.  Hark  !  there  goes  Brice."  She  gave  Elinor  a 
light  kiss  on  the  cheek,  and  running  down  the  stairs 
she  came  upon  Mannering  just  as  he  was  beginning 
to  cover  the  library  fire. 


XI 

MAN   AND   WIFE 

MANNERING  rose  from  the  fire,  shovel  in  hand. 

"  Dear  me,  Katie  !  "  he  muttered ;  "  dear  me  !  " 

Her  militant  air  could  scarcely  be  ignored.  It  put 
him  at  once  on  guard.  His  old  knowledge  of  her 
fortified  him  with  new  data  for  the  occasion.  This, 
he  knew,  was  no  time  of  night  to  talk,  and  there 
fore  it  was  the  time  she  would  select.  Secure  in  her 
tremendous  health,  she  could  take  chances  against 
to-morrow.  With  the  thrift  of  the  middle  -  aged,  he 
resented  that  foolhardiness. 

"  Sit  down,  Brice,"  she  commanded,  "  I  want  to 
talk  to  you." 

He  stood  there,  the  shovel  in  his  hand  like  a  defen 
sive  weapon. 

"  It 's  eleven  o'clock,"  he  objected  fretfully. 

"  I  don't  care  if  it 's  twelve.  Brice,  the  one  trouble 
is  that  we  have  n't  courage." 

He  put  the  shovel  in  its  place,  and  then  stood  on 
the  hearthstone  facing  her.  At  that  moment  it  seemed 
to  him  that  the  only  courage  he  lacked  was  the  cour 
age  to  go  to  bed.  Yet  he  took  the  part  of  prudence 
in  not  saying  so ;  he  knew  exactly  how  trivialities 
would  be  received. 

"  That  girl  shows  me  what  life  could  be,"  Katha 
rine  went  on,  in  a  glowing  confidence. 


MAN  AND  WIFE  109 

Brice  breathed  easier.  The  talk  was  promising  to 
run  into  an  irrelevant  channel. 

"  What  girl  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  cheerful  interest. 

"  Lorraine.  She  is  so  full  of  power.  She  never 
will  sit  down  to  ossify  and  let  the  moss  grow  over 
her.  She  has  the  courage  to  live.  Brice,  we  must 
live,  too." 

"  She  is  a  pretty  girl,"  he  owned,  with  a  secure 
vagueness. 

"  You  and  I  have  both  been  cowards,"  said  Katha 
rine,  throwing  an  extravagant  vigor  into  her  argument. 
"  We  have  hated  living  together.  You  have  hated  it 
as  much  as  I.  Brice,  tell  me  you  've  hated  it." 

In  honesty,  he  could  not  answer.  It  still  seemed 
to  him  that  all  he  hated  was  being  kept  up  when  he 
should  have  been  in  bed.  When  he  sat  up  after 
eleven  he  was  accustomed  to  take  the  eight  fifty-eight 
train  instead  of  the  eight  forty-three,  and  that  always 
disarranged  his  day.  He  felt  already  the  wrong  done 
the  morrow. 

"  Well,  we  '11  talk  it  all  over  sometime,"  he  said, 
with  a  motion  toward  the  shovel.  The  fire  was  dying 
down  under  its  ashy  bank.  Only  a  velvet  spark  or 
two  were  quick. 

"  No,"  said  Katharine,  "  we  '11  talk  it  over  to-night. 
I  've  been  a  coward,  and  I  shan't  be  any  more.  I  've 
told  you  I  wanted  to  go,  and  when  you  would  n't  let 
me  go  peaceably  I  've  stayed.  Now,  peace  or  war, 
I  'm  going." 

"  Oh,  well,  Katie,  there  won't  be  war,  I  guess ! 
Only,"  he  added  artfully,  "  we  're  likely  to  be  more 
comfortable  than  we  have  been.  The  book  is  selling. 
We  shall  get  some  money  out  of  that." 


110  THE  MANNERINGS 

"  The  book !  The  very  thing  that  pushes  us  apart 
for  good !  " 

"Why?"  Some  semblance  of  earnestness  awak 
ened  in  him  with  surprise.  The  real  man  looked  out, 
the  man  so  used  to  comfortable  living  that  he  had 
eschewed  strong  passions  until  emotion  had,  in  its 
justice,  repudiated  him. 

"Why?  I  don't  quite  know  why.  Chiefly  be 
cause  it  shows  me  how  foreign  we  are  to  each  other. 
We  don't  agree  in  the  smallest  particular.  But  that 's 
not  all.  What  you  've  done  is  like  the  shock  that 
throws  us  apart.  I  can't  get  over  it.  I  can't  come 
near  you  again." 

"  The  book  is  going  to  sell,"  pronounced  Brice 
irrelevantly. 

"  It  is  not  going  to  sell ;  it  is  going  to  die." 

"  There,  there,  there  !  "  He  might  have  been  say 
ing,  "  Tut,  tut,"  in  traditional  fashion,  to  a  child. 
"  Books  can't  be  smuggled  out  of  sight  like  that.  We 
are  printing  another  thousand.  What  do  you  expect 
me  to  do  with  them  ?  " 

"  Buy  them  in,  recall  them,  burn  them,  melt  up  the 
plates !  Do  whatever  is  done  with  books  that  don't 
deserve  to  live." 

"  Now,  now,  Katie !  Think  what  you  're  saying. 
You  know  very  well  I  can't.  I  shan't,  if  it  comes  to 
that." 

"  Then  I  shall  do  things  you  won't  like,  violent 
things  we  shall  neither  of  us  like.  I  shall  tell  the 
story  of  the  book.  It  shall  go  into  every  newspaper 
in  the  country  —  how  I  wrote  it  and  you  stole  it." 

"  Ah,  but  that  will  sell  the  book  !  " 

"  There  won't  be  any  book  to  be  sold.  You  will 
stop  printing  it." 


MAN   AND   WIFE  111 

Mannering  braced  himself  against  the  impact  not 
only  of  her  arrogance,  but  old  memories  of  contests 
where  her  will  was  always  dominant.  This  seemed  to 
him  the  crucial  instant.  If  at  this  time  he  was  not 
a  man,  he  could  expect  nothing  of  the  future.  He 
cleared  his  throat,  and  spoke  with  the  more  desperate 
valor  in  that  he  shrank  from  the  effect  of  what  he  had 
to  say. 

"  I  shall  go  on  printing  it." 

Katharine  looked  at  him  for  a  second,  and  then 
walked  back  and  forth  once  the  length  of  the  room. 
He  turned  toward  the  door,  but  she  was  there  before 
him  ;  she  closed  it  gently. 

"  No,"  she  said  ;  "  you  must  not  go.  Some  things 
have  got  to  be  talked  out  to-night." 

He  sat  down,  and  she  took  a  chair  opposite.  It 
was  an  ease  her  tense  limbs  almost  refused,  yet  she 
repudiated  the  cheap  advantage  of  standing  over  him 
in  accusation. 

"  Brice,"  she  said  gently,  "  we  've  got  to  go  back  a 
long  way,  ever  so  many  years.  It  was  a  hideous  thing 
for  us  to  marry." 

"  You  were  a  nice  girl,  Katie,"  returned  Mannering, 
with  an  air  of  general  compliment. 

"  I  have  never  been  a  nice  girl  since.  I  have  done 
nothing  but  hate  my  life,  and  it  won't  be  long  before 
I  hate  you,  too." 

She  seemed  to  him  irresponsible,  and  he  tried  to 
observe  the  tolerance  we  accord  hysteria.  Katharine's 
heart  beat  hard.  She  had  never  felt  so  much  emotion, 
and  she  did  not  propose  to  shirk  it.  It  seemed  a 
strenuous  duty  to  tell  the  truth  which  alone  made  any 
new  beginning  possible. 


112  THE  MANNERINGS_ 

"I  knew  you  and  I  were  strangers,"  she  went  on, 
"  but  I  did  n't  know  until  the  other  night  how  you 
had  cheated  me." 

44  Cheated  you?" 

"  Yes,  cheated  me.  You  got  me  to  sign  away  my 
right  to  this  house  by  a  miserable  subterfuge.  I  don't 
want  the  house,  but  I  can't  forgive  the  lie." 

44  Oh,  come,  come,  now  !  "  cried  Mannering,  rousing 
himself  in  candid  protest,  44 1  could  n't  explain  to 
you  just  then ;  you  would  n't  have  listened  to  me. 
You  were  all  taken  up  with  Vane  Williams's  music." 

She  whitened,  and  her  eyes  glittered  from  an  im 
passive  face. 

44  That  is  true,"  she  said  ;  44  that 's  just.  I  was 
taken  up  with  Vane  Williams.  The  music  need  n't 
count.  But  if  you  cared,  if  you  had  been  man  enough 
to  mind  it  —  tell  me,  did  you  mind  ?  "  A  sudden 
wonder  stirred  in  her  voice  and  yearned  there  to  find 
him  more  human  than  he  seemed.  She  longed  to 
think  he  had  ever  suffered  for  her  and  forborne  to 
mention  it ;  that  would  have  given  their  life  together 
some  significance.  But  he  answered  cheerfully  :  — 

44 1  did  n't  care.  Bless  you,  no  !  it  occupied  your 
time.  See  here,  Katie,"  —  his  voice  fell  to  a  note 
of  confidence,  — 44  do  you  mind  the  house  being  mort 
gaged  to  Home  ?  " 

44  It  scorches  me  to  think  of  it." 

44  Now,  why  ?  " 

44  For  many  reasons.  One  is,  that  we  have  lived 
here  neighbors,  and  always  more  luxuriously  than  he. 
I  'm  not  sure  we  have  n't  patronized  him  a  little.  Not 
I,  God  knows  !  I  could  n't  make  that  mistake.  But 
you,  your  father.  I  can  hear  your  father  now,  ram- 


MAN  AND   WIFE  113 

bling  on  to  Gilbert  Home  about  your  success  in  busi 
ness,  your  cleverness  with  the  farm,  and  telling  how 
you  meant  to  spend  your  latter  days  abroad.  And  all 
the  time  we  were  living  on  his  money." 

"  There  ! "  said  Brice  soothingly.  "  So  you  'd  like  to 
have  it  all  paid  up,  now,  would  n't  you  ?  " 

"  Like  it  ?  It 's  the  only  thing  that  will  ever  make 
me  feel  like  an  honest  woman.  But  this  is  what  we 
must  do ;  this  is  a  part  of  the  courage  I  want  us 
both  to  show.  Turn  the  place  over  to  Gilbert  Home. 
We  '11  go  to  town  and  board,  you  and  your  father  in 
one  place,  I  in  another.  I'll  find  a  situation.  I'll 
support  myself  and  give  you  all  I  can.  I  will,  Brice, 
I  promise ;  you  can  trust  me." 

She  spoke  as  eagerly  as  some  young  thing  who, 
beginning  life,  pleads  for  the  chance  to  make  mere 
being  possible.  To  Mannering  it  seemed  a  fantastic 
arrangement  of  counters  in  a  game  played  for  the 
diversion  of  the  moment.  He  shook  his  head  airily. 

"  No,  no,"  he  said,  "  that 's  ridiculous.  Besides, 
father  could  n't  stand  it." 

"  He  would  hardly  mind,"  said  Katharine,  still 
with  that  air  of  passionate  pleading.  "  He  is  differ 
ent  now,  different  from  what  you  think.  A  little 
satisfies  him.  His  wants  are  very  simple.  If  he  had 
a  sunny  window,  and  you  to  come  home  at  night  — 
Oh,  Brice,  listen  to  me !  Let  him  pay  a  part  of  the 
penalty,  too.  It  must  fall  on  all  of  us." 

"  Not  on  father  !  "  said  Mannering.  He  smiled  at 
her,  and  took  a  more  restful  pose.  The  chair,  with 
its  familiar  hollows,  compensated  him  in  some  degree 
for  the  smarts  she  dealt  him.  It  reminded  him  that 
though  this  talk  of  ideal  conditions  might  go  buzzing 


114  THE  MANNERINGS 

on  about  his  ears,  the  homely  ministrants  of  life  would 
still  be  kind  to  him. 

"  See  here,  Katie,"  he  said  reasonably,  "  you  want 
the  mortgage  paid  off?  Well,  the  book  will  do  it. 
Mark  my  words,  it  will." 

Fury  assailed  her.  It  was  an  inward  convulsion 
she  could  well  control ;  yet  for  that  reason,  it  was  the 
more  terrible. 

"  The  book !  "  she  repeated,  in  a  low  tone.  "  The 
book !  the  book  shall  be  suppressed.  If  you  do  not 
hear  to  me,  you  will  be  sorry.  You  will  be  terribly 
sorry." 

"  Come  !  come  !  "  said  he,  in  uneasy  ambush  behind 
his  smile.  "  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?" 

Katharine  stood  still  for  a  moment,  looking  at  the 
floor. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do,"  she  said,  at  length. 
"  Sometimes  I  am  afraid  to  think.  But  one  thing  is 
true :  it  is  dangerous  to  fetter  creatures  as  you  are 
fettering  me.  I  tell  you,  Brice,  it  is  dangerous." 

The  naked  sincerity  of  her  words  moved  her  to 
redoubled  fervor.  She  was  a  creature  without  re 
serves,  without  evasions.  Any  eye  might  have  looked 
into  her  heart  at  any  time,  to  see  it  as  it  was.  There 
was  no  one  to  whom  in  her  intemperate  candor  she 
was  not  ready  to  show  her  unveiled  mind.  To-night, 
her  blood  moving  faster  after  the  abandon  of  Lor 
raine's  dancing,  she  was  doubly  eager  to  sweep  expe 
dients  aside  and  take  the  track  of  a  robust  living. 
The  way  she  saw  at  any  present  moment  was,  she 
knew,  the  only  one.  If  Brice  could  find  the  path 
before  them,  then  they  might  walk  in  it,  and  the 
troubles  that  wait  on  cowardice  would  all  be  over. 


MAN   AND  WIFE  115 

"  Brice  !  "  she  said  eagerly.     "  Brice  !  " 

He  was  winding  his  watch,  a  duty  always  rigorously 
performed  at  nine  o'clock,  though  to-night  Lorraine's 
art  had  beguiled  him  into  a  rare  forgetfulness. 

"  I  am  all  wrong,"  declared  Katharine,  in  a  full, 
sweet  tone  of  childlike  pleading.  "  I  threaten,  I  abuse 
you.  I  ought  to  show  you  how  lovely  things  might 
be  for  us.  Why,  Brice,  if  we  were  only  brave,  we 
could  be  happy,  we  could  live !  " 

Mannering  returned  his  watch  to  his  pocket,  and  in 
the  act  of  smiling  at  her  in  a  diffused  corroboration, 
it  occurred  to  him  that  she  was  very  handsome  with 
that  flush  and  those  dilated  eyes.  An  amiable  patron 
age  rose  in  him  as  the  legal  head  of  this  lawless  yet 
abounding  creature,  and  he  pursed  his  lips  over  the 
swift  conclusion  that  few  men  could  have  managed  her 
at  all.  He  felt  like  extending  the  sceptre,  and  justi 
fying  his  permanent  sway  by  conceding  her  some  mo 
mentary  triumph. 

"  Quite  right,  Katie,  quite  right,"  he  announced  rhe 
torically.  "  Yes,  that 's  decided.  We  must  live."  A 
familiar  cadence  struck  him,  and  he  added,  to  his  own 
satisfaction,  "  Live  and  let  live !  live  and  let  live  !  " 

She  smiled  upon  him  breathlessly. 

"  Brice,"  she  urged,  "  we  won't  quarrel  any  more. 
We  '11  decide  things  together,  and  do  them,  no  matter 
what  it  costs.  We  '11  pay  our  debts.  We  '11  blot  out 
that  book.  Will  you  do  that?  Oh,  Brice,  just  answer 
me!" 

She  was  like  a  temperamental  wind  blowing  him  to 
tatters.  She  forced  him  to  take  shelter  anywhere, 
even  in  a  wild  agreement. 

"  Yes,"  he  muttered.     "  Yes,  Kate,  yes !  " 


116  THE  MANNERINGS 

A  change  rushed  over  her ;  it  turned  her  to  trem 
bling  and  brought  tears  into  her  burning  eyes.  She 
stretched  out  both  hands  toward  him. 

"  Oh,  Brice,"  she  cried,  "  will  you  do  this  ?  Will 
you,  really?  Oh,  I  shall  bless  you  as  long  as  I  live !  " 

He  rose,  and  took  her  hands  as  quickly  as  she  had 
given  them.  A  fickle  emotion  stirred  in  him,  and  he 
felt  the  uncomprehending  triumph  of  a  nature  which 
has  ignorantly  moved  a  more  tempestuous  one.  Katha 
rine  let  him  keep  her  hands,  hardly  knowing  he  had 
them.  She  poured  out  words  in  a  torrent. 

"  If  we  could  part  friends,  when  we  separate !  If 
we  could  only  do  that !  Think  what  it  would  be, 
what  a  triumph  to  have  kept  some  kindliness  out  of 
this  disaster  !  Why,  I  only  hate  you  because  you 
are  my  husband  !  If  we  were  parted,  we  could  be 
such  friends.  We  could  say  to  people,  4  Here  's  old 
faithfulness  saved  out  of  the  past.  The  past  was  a 
mistake,  but  something  good  blossomed  out  of  it.' 
You  don't  know  what  a  friend  I  could  be.  I  'd  take 
care  of  your  father,  if  he  were  sick.  I  'd  do  anything 
for  you  —  anything."  The  words  came  throbbingly 
with  a  rush  of  gratitude.  New  tears  flooded  her  eyes, 
and  his  look  warmed  responsively. 

He  held  her  closer,  and  drew  toward  her. 

"  Give  me  a  kiss,  Katie,"  he  besought  her  thickly. 

She  snatched  her  hands  away  with  a  little  cry  like 
that  of  a  hurt  beast.  • 

"  No  !  no  !     Don't  touch  me  ! " 

The  poignant  revolt  of  the  flesh  had  got  hold  of 
her  and  made  a  sickness  of  the  mind.  She  shuddered, 
and  her  limbs  trembled  under  her.  For  the  moment  he 
was  not  the  creature  whose  slighter  spirit  she  had  long 


MAN   AND   WIFE  117 

despised ;  he  was  brute  man,  threatening  her  revolting 
will.  Nature  was  alive  in  both  of  them,  a  terrible  an 
tagonism.  Fear  beat  its  wing  upon  her,  urging  her  to 
flight  and  sanctuary.  There  was  a  sound  at  the  door, 
a  tap,  and  then  it  opened.  Elinor  stood  there  in  a 
white  wrapper,  her  long  hair  about  her  face.  She 
looked  like  a  saint  roused  out  of  sleep,  and  drowsy. 
But  her  eyes  were  wide  in  startled  questioning. 

"  I  thought  I  heard  "  —  she  began  —  "I  heard  a 
cry."  She  had  spoken  apologetically,  and  with  the 
words  she  would  have  gone,  but  Katharine's  hand  ar 
rested  her.  Katharine  was  shuddering  all  over.  Her 
lips  seemed  stiffening,  and  her  touch  was  cold. 

"  Wait,"  she  said.     "  I  '11  go  with  you." 

But  Elinor  withdrew  her  hand  and  went  as  softly  as 
she  came. 

Katharine  stood  facing  Brice,  her  gaze  compelling 
him.  Her  eyes  seemed  to  be  lingering  only  for  the 
just  intimidation  of  what  they  hated. 

"  You  have  promised  me,"  she  said. 

He  was  silent,  sharflefaced  after  the  folly  of  hot 
blood. 

"  Brice,  it  was  a  promise.    You  '11  remember  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  Katie,"  he  conceded.  "  Of  course  I  shall 
remember." 

She  went  slowly  up  the  stairs  to  the  landing  where 
Elinor  awaited  her.  Katharine  stood  a  moment  silent, 
and  then  said  shakingly,  — 

"  Stay  with  me,  Nell.  Nothing  is  the  matter.  Only 
I  'm  a  coward." 

Elinor  went  with  her  to  her  room,  and  they  lay 
beside  each  other  silent,  with  clasped  hands,  until  the 
dawn. 


XII 

TWO    DAUGHTERS   OF   ONE   RACE 

LORRAINE  and  Natalie  sat  together  in  the  living- 
room,  Lorraine  under  streaming  sunlight  awakening 
her  and  the  chintz-covered  chair  into  a  summer  bloom. 
Natalie  had  her  sewing  in  her  lap,  and  now  and  then 
she  took  a  few  careful  stitches. 

"  What  makes  you  sew  ?  "  asked  Lorraine  at  last. 
"  How  can  you  ?  " 

It  was  new  work  for  Natalie.  It  was  the  screen 
for  her  thoughts,  the  veil  of  her  betraying  eyes :  but 
she  answered  lightly,  — 

"  I  like  it." 

"  You  can't.  You  never  were  made  that  way. 
You  're  so  different,  Natalie  !  " 

"  I  am  older,"  replied  Natalie,  with  a  cruel  precision 
meant  only  for  herself. 

"  You  used  to  be  such  a  little  devil.  There  was  no 
keeping  you  under.  The  house  was  n't  big  enough. 
Now  you  sit  and  mope." 

"  Oh,  no  !  I  don't  mope,  I  sew." 

"  What  is  the  thing,  a  tray  cloth  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  You  don't  do  it  very  well." 

"  I  do  it  vilely,"  said  Natalie,  with  indifference. 

Lorraine  came  to  her  feet  in  joyous  haste. 

"  Oh,  there  's  Dick  !  "  she  cried,  with  pleasure  in  her 


TWO   DAUGHTERS   OF  ONE   RACE  119 

voice.  "  He  promised  to  work  last  night  and  come 
out  early.  We  're  going  to  walk.  Tell  him  I  '11  be 
ready." 

She  ran  upstairs,  and  Natalie  heard  her  singing  in 
a  full  sweet  tone  above.  Richard  came  into  the  room 
without  stopping  to  take  off  his  coat.  He  looked  very 
big  and  full  of  life.  Natalie,  glancing  up,  felt  her 
heart  constrict  at  the  beauty  of  his  youth.  He  was 
not  dulled  from  long  hours  since  Lorraine  had  come, 
although  now  he  worked  at  top  heat,  earning  time  for 
play. 

"  Good-morrow,  lass,"  he  said,  with  a  sweeping  bow 
to  her.  "  Where  's  Lorraine  ?  Get  your  things.  We  '11 
go  to  walk." 

Natalie  was  gazing  at  him  with  a  specious  sweet 
ness  ;  she  spoke  cordially,  from  what  seemed  open 
ness  of  mind :  — 

"  Lorraine  is  upstairs .  She  has  gone  to  get  her 
things." 

"  Get  yours.      Hurry  up.     It 's  a  fine  old  day !  " 

She  did  not  move,  and  Lorraine's  running  step  was 
on  the  stair.  Dick  turned  and  met  her  at  the  door. 
Her  face  had  the  flush  of  anticipated  pleasure ;  her 
eyes  were  two  brown  pools  with  glints  in  them. 

"  Good  boy  !  "  she  greeted  him,  giving  him  her  muff 
to  hold,  while  she  drew  on  a  glove.  "  Where  shall  we 
go?" 

"  Anywhere.     Come,  Natalie,  child,  hurry." 

"  No,  not  I,"  returned  Natalie,  smiling  at  them. 
"  I  've  got  to  sew." 

"  She  's  got  to  sew  !  "  laughed  Lorraine.  She  took 
back  her  muff,  and  waved  Natalie  a  kiss.  4fc  Goose  ! 
but  you  're  a  dear  Natalie." 


120  THE  MANNERINGS 

Dick  went  over  to  Natalie,  and  stood  regarding  her 
for  a  moment. 

"  Everything  all  right  ? "  he  asked.  She  looked 
him  in  the  eyes,  and  her  own  deceiving  glance  held 
steady. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  she  said.  "  I  don't  want  to  go,  that 's 
all." 

He  smiled  at  her,  and  with  a  touch  of  her  hair 
above  the  forehead,  hastened  out  in  what  seemed  to 
her,  watching  him  with  a  weary  gaze,  the  haste  of 
one  set  free.  She  dropped  her  work  on  a  shelf  under 
the  window  at  her  side,  put  back  her  head  against  the 
chair,  and  closed  her  eyes.  Her  face  was  pinched  and 
pale.  Some  inexorable  thought  crept  over  it  and  stif 
fened  it  into  a  sadness  too  poignant  to  be  explained, 
save  as  old  grief  revived  by  memory. 

There  Madam  Walsingham,  corning  into  the  room 
with  her  book,  found  her,  and  giving  her  one  sharp 
glance,  passed  her  by,  to  sit  down  where  Lorraine  had 
been  lounging  in  the  sun.  Natalie  had  forgotten  the 
existing  world.  That  light  step  failed  to  rouse  her ; 
but  presently  she  opened  her  eyes  with  the  feeling  of 
one  who  is  looked  at.  Passing  a  hand  across  her  face, 
she  cleared  it  of  its  trouble. 

"That's  right,"  said  the  old  lady.  "Put  such 
thoughts  aside.  Bury  them.  They  won't  do  you  any 
good." 

Natalie  smiled,  but  in  a  different  way  from  that 
kept  for  Lorraine.  A  telltale  quiver  at  the  corners  of 
her  mouth  betrayed  her  as  she  was. 

"You  wear  me  out,"  continued  the  old  lady,  with  irri 
tation.  "  I  came  here  for  a  few  minutes'  rest  in  a  dull 
New  England  house  before  Lorraine  drags  me  away 


TWO   DAUGHTERS   OF  ONE   RACE  121 

to  be  seen  no  more,  and  I  find  you  white  hot  with  all 
the  passions  of  life.  What  do  you  mean  by  it,  minx?  " 

Natalie  laughed  now  with  real  amusement.  She 
was  under  an  old  woman's  spell.  Madam  Walsing- 
ham  had  drawn  her  as  near  as  she  ever  invited  human 
being.  Natalie  had  learned  by  tacit  permission  that 
her  grandmother  was  great  fun,  and  that  underneath 
her  rallying  lay  some  kindliness  not  given  to  speech. 

"  You  are  making  a  great  mistake  with  that  young 
man,"  said  Madam  Walsingham.  She  folded  her 
hands  over  the  book  upon  her  lap,  and  looked  at  Nata 
lie  dispassionately. 

"I  did  n't  care  about  walking." 

"  Don't  parry.  You  're  no  match  for  me.  I  say 
what  I  please  now,  because  I  shall  be  in  my  grave  inside 
of  two  years.  Do  you  know  why  he  likes  Lorraine?  " 

Natalie  did  not  answer. 

"  Because  she  is  a  perfectly  healthy  and  perfectly 
natural  human  thing.  She  '11  be  more  healthy  when 
she  comes  in  from  walking.  You  're  getting  yellow, 
in  the  house." 

"You  don't  understand,"  said  Natalie  coldly. 
"  There  is  no  rivalry  between  Lorraine  and  me." 

"You  made  your  mistake  at  the  outset,"  said 
Madam  Walsingham,  as  if  she  read  from  an  interest 
ing  book.  "  I  know  the  kind  of  girl  you  are.  You 
adored  the  creature  and  told  him  so.  Live  farther  off, 
child,  live  farther  off." 

Some  tension  yielded  in  Natalie,  and  in  spite  of 
herself  she  spoke.  The  old  woman  seemed  quite  im 
personal  ;  she  tempted  candor. 

"  It  does  n't  matter.     I  shan't  live  long  —  at  all." 

"  Nonsense  !     Not  live  long  ?     Why  not  ?  " 


122  THE  MANNERINGS 

"  I  don't  know  ;  but  I  feel  it.  Something  is  broken 
in  me.  I  shall  not  live." 

Madam  Walsingham  looked  at  her  for  a  few  mo 
ments  in  quiet  speculation. 

"  You  are  one  of  those  curious  creatures,"  she  said, 
"who  have  no  life  of  their  own  apart  from  the  thing 
they  worship.  No,  I  dare  say  you  won't  live :  yet  in 
the  beginning  you  were  stronger  than  Lorraine.  Per 
haps  I  should  n't  weaken  your  resistance  by  agreeing 
with  you  ;  however,  it  does  nyt  matter.  You  think  the 
creature  has  changed  since  he  fell  in  love  with  you. 
I  dare  say  he  has  n't :  only  he  does  n't  talk  that  lan 
guage  any  more." 

Natalie  made  a  little  dissenting  gesture  of  the 
hands.  It  asked  for  silence. 

"  You  see,"  continued  the  old  lady,  "  your  kind  of 
woman  demands  too  much.  Men  can't  give  it.  They 
can  fetch  and  carry,  and  that  looks  like  devotion  ;  but 
it  is  n't  what  you  call  devotion,  nor  what  you  think 
they've  promised  you.  They  swear  the  most  extrava 
gant  things  in  the  beginning,  and  you  think  it  means 
love  as  you  interpret  it.  You  speak  different  lan 
guages,  my  dear,  that 's  all.  Different  languages  !  He 
rumbles  out  something  in  his  tongue,  and  you  hear  it 
in  yours.  It 's  a  very  good  bass  to  your  treble  ;  but 
you  'd  make  it  full  harmony." 

She  nodded  as  one  who  knew  all  the  stops  of  life. 
Natalie  could  not  answer. 

"  Can't  you  give  the  man  a  lesson  ?  "  asked  Madam 
Walsingham.  "  Can't  you  deny  him,  flout  him,  be 
out  when  he  comes,  make  fun  of  his  yellow  stockings 
and  cross  garters  ?  " 

"  You  don't  understand,  grandmother." 


TWO   DAUGHTERS  OF  ONE  RACE  123 

uNo,  I  suppose  you  can't  do  that.  You  don't 
want  anything  that  is  n't  yours  by  right.  You  won't 
play  the  game.  But  go  to  walk,  child,  go  to  walk. 
Don't  get  yellow." 

Involuntarily  Natalie  started  up  and  glanced  at 
herself  in  the  glass.  The  old  lady  nodded. 

"  You  see  ?  "  she  said.  "  It 's  not  becoming.  And 
it  looks  like  jealousy,  the  only  disease  known  among 
men  for  which  there  is  no  sympathy  in  heaven  or 
earth.  Go  to  walk,  child,  go  to  walk.  Break  your 
heart,  if  you  must,  but  keep  your  complexion."  She 
opened  her  book  and  was  instantly  immersed  in  it, 
chuckling  to  herself  over  the  opening  passage. 

Natalie,  seeing  her  absorbed,  stood  for  a  moment  in 
thought ;  then  she  folded  her  work,  and  dropped  it 
on  the  open  fire.  Madam  Walsingham  looked  up  at 
the  movement,  and  continued  the  mirth  evoked  by  her 
reading. 

"  That 's  right,  child,"  said  she.  "  Don't  be  a  fool. 
Needle  and  thread  are  no  weapons  for  you." 

"  I  like  to  sew,"  said  Natalie  obstinately. 

"And  don't  give  anybody  the  power  of  life  and 
death  over  you.  Get  interested  in  things  as  they  are. 
Walk,  look  at  the  sky,  be  a  healthy  little  animal.  Do 
you  think  if  I  were  your  age,  I  'd  be  sighing  for 
a  man?" 

Natalie  gave  her  a  quick,  involuntary  look. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  remarked  the  old  lady  dryly,  "  as 
you  say.  At  your  age  I  was  doing  it ;  but  I  lost  my 
best  years.  Take  warning,  child,  take  warning." 

Ten  minutes  later  she  saw  Natalie  walking  down 
the  drive,  and  settled  herself  to  her  book  in  an  as 
sured  content. 


124  THE   MANNERINGS 

Meanwhile  Lorraine  was  tramping  at  an  even  pace, 
talking  as  rapidly,  and  carrying  Dick's  emotions  with 
her.  They  had  taken  a  wood  road  leading  round  the 
hill.  There  were  shadows  of  a  strange,  translucent 
green  upon  the  snow,  and  Dick  suddenly  remembered 
how  Natalie  had  wondered  at  them  another  day  at  this 
same  place.  He  put  a  hand  on  Lorraine's  arm  to 
check  her  talk.  "  Look  !  "  he  said.  "  The  shadows 
on  the  snow  !  " 

"  Yes,  pretty,"  she  answered,  with  a  rapid  glance. 
"  And  you  see,  Dick,  if  my  dancing  is  once  really 
known,  I  shall  be  wanted.  It  will  be  immensely  pop 
ular.  There  's  nothing  like  it.  You  say  that  your 
self." 

"  Oh,  it 's  a  marvel !  But  I  hate  to  have  you  do  it, 
even  for  kudos.  Hang  it,  Lorraine,  I  hate  it !  " 

"  And  you  play  wonderfully,  Dick,  you  really  do. 
Levinski  is  n't  likely  to  leave  New  York  this  win 
ter.  He  '11  get  a  hearing  there.  He  won't  think 
of  me.  Oh,  come  on,  Dickie  !  Come  and  play  for 
me !  " 

He  laughed  uneasily.  Then  he  regarded  her  with 
attention.  "  Do  you  happen  to  remember,  Lorraine," 
he  asked,  "  that  it  has  never  occurred  to  you  to  won 
der  whether  I  have  any  work  of  my  own  ?  " 

She  met  his  look  frankly  ;  her  glance  was  clear,  its 
sweetness  quite  unblemished.  "  Now,  you  're  not  going 
to  be  cross,"  she  exclaimed  sunnily. 

He  kicked  at  a  root  in  his  path,  not  stirring  it,  but 
with  some  resulting  irritation  to  himself. 

"  It  is  curious,"  he  mused,  "  curious  !  In  all  these 
years  we  've  been  writing  to  each  other,  you  have 
never  once  asked  me  what  I  was  doing." 


TWO   DAUGHTERS   OF  ONE   RACE  125 

"  Dear  heart,  you  told  me !  You  were  in  jour 
nalism." 

"  Well,  I  am  in  journalism  still,  and  I  can't  afford 
to  throw  it  over." 

She  stopped  in  the  path,  and  her  brows  were  knitted 
in  a  pretty  frown.  She  seemed  to  be  thinking;  her 
look  was  abstracted,  as  if  he  and  the  present  moment 
were  far  outside  her  cogitations. 

"  I  wish  you  might,"  she  said  softly.  "  I  wish  you 
might."  Her  mood  changed.  "  Where  is  the  house 
in  the  woods  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  quick  return  to  the 
absorbing  moment.  "  Up  through  this  clearing?  Do 
you  know,  your  uncle  would  n't  take  me  there  ?  " 

"  Come  on.     I  '11  take  you." 

They  plunged  up  the  hill  through  melting  .sno\i 
and  when  the  log  walls  were  before  her  Lorraine  e* 
claimed  at  once  over  their  charm.  Dick  pushed  open 
the  door,  and  she  went  in.  The  place  was  cold,  and 
lacking  firelight,  chilling  to  the  eye. 

"  Move  about,"  said  Dick,  "  while  I  build  a  fire." 

He  heaped  fuel  together  hunter-fashion,  the  sticks 
laid  pyramidally  to  a  common  centre.  When  he  was 
about  to  light  it,  Lorraine  caught  the  match  away 
from  him  and  did  it  herself,  with  becoming  pains. 
Then  she  sat  down  on  the  hearth,  so  near  the  blaze 
that  he  watched  her  lest  she  take  fire.  Her  skin 
reddened  from  warmth,  and  the  loose  tendrils  of  her 
hair  seemed  to  move  with  the  climbing  of  the  flame. 
Richard  had  thrown  off  his  greatcoat,  and  sat  there 
pondering.  He  wondered  what  she  was  thinking. 
That  was  an  interest  she  was  used  to  leaving  unsated ; 
she  was  inaccessible,  in  her  sweet,  unregarding  way. 
Lorraine  was  a  woman  who  kept  her  secrets.  Yet 


126  THE  MANNERINGS 

every  one  knew  she  must  have  secrets  to  keep ;  there 
must  be  enormous  forces  concealed  in  one  who  seemed 
so  keen  an  exponent  of  life. 

She  glanced  up  at  him,  surprising  his  answer,  and 
her  face  broke  into  a  sunny  recognition. 

"  Nice,  is  n't  it,  Dick  ?  "  she  asked. 

The  charm  of  her  mounted  to  his  brain.  At  the 
moment,  she  seemed  to  him  the  old  Lorraine  whom 
he  had  been  the  first  to  love.  The  haunting  question 
of  his  life  assailed  him  now,  face  to  face  with  her,  as 
it  had  in  absence.  So  familiar  was  it  to  his  thought 
and  so  unconsidered  in  his  talk  with  Natalie,  that  it 
sprang  unbidden  to  his  lips.  "  Lorraine,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered. 

The  question  should  have  followed,  "  Why  did  you 
throw  me  over  ?  "  but  it  halted  in  his  mind. 

"  What  is  it,  Dick  ?  "  she  queried,  in  her  bell-like 
tone.  "  What  is  it  ?  " 

He  was  silent  a  moment,  fixing  a  grip  on  his  truant 
will ;  and  then  he  said,  without  a  purpose,  as  if  some 
force  in  her  compelled  him,  — 

"  I  '11  go  with  you,  if  you  want  me.  I  '11  play  for 
you." 

Immediately  he  was  glad,  her  joy  was  so  apparent. 
She  rose  from  the  hearth  with  one  of  her  buoyant 
motions,  and  stood  before  him,  breathing  pleasure. 

"  Oh,  Dick !  "  she  murmured.     «  Dear  old  Dick !  " 

Dick,  rather  pale,  looked  at  her  and  got  up  from 
his  chair. 

"  Sit  here,"  he  said  soberly.  "  Let  us  talk  it  over. 
When  do  you  want  to  go  ?  " 

For  an  hour  she  sat  there  sketching  routes,  breath 
less  and  yet  with  great  precision.  She  did  not  pro- 


TWO   DAUGHTERS   OF   ONE   RACE  127 

pose  to  enter  advertising  bureaus  this  year.  The  sea 
son  was  too  late.  She  would  make  a  tour  of  the 
smaller  towns  in  northern  New  England  and  Canada, 
to  get  her  grip,  and  then  essay  the  Canadian  cities 
and  earn  her  notices.  In  the  spring  she  would  de 
scend  upon  the  big  cities  of  the  East.  Her  gayety, 
her  absolute  belief  in  herself,  were  both  infectious.  In 
five  minutes  Dick  was  as  deep  in  the  scheme  as  she 
had  waded  for  the  last  half  year.  In  his  facile  adap 
tation  to  the  present,  he  bettered  her  instruction,  and 
they  talked  in  a  racing  antiphony  and  drowned  each 
other's  laughter. 

The  early  dusk  of  the  woods  began  to  fall  before 
they  noted  it,  and  all  at  once  the  mantle  of  it  was 
upon  them.  Lorraine  threw  down  her  pencil,  and 
leaned  back  in  her  chair  with  a  happy  sigh. 

"  All,  Dickie,  you  're  the  boy  to  play  with,"  she 
cried,  pleasure  still  in  her  voice.  "  I  have  n't  seen 
your  like  since  I  left  America." 

His  face  sobered  with  a  thought  as  sudden  as  his 
laughter.  Why  had  she  left  America  ?  If  she  had 
stayed  —  but  again  something  restrained  him,  and  he 
rose  to  get  her  jacket.  As  he  held  it  for  her,  and  she 
slipped  her  arms  in,  she  turned  about  to  him. 

"  Why  do  you  get  blue  at  a  moment's  notice  ?  "  she 
asked  peremptorily.  "  You  did  n't  use  to." 

He  was  putting  on  his  own  coat,  and  having  done 
it  he  thrust  his  hands  into  the  pockets  and  looked 
down  at  the  fire. 

"  No,  I  did  n't  use  to,"  he  answered  slowly.  "  I 
don't  very  often  get  blue,  Lorraine.  But  when  I  do, 
it 's  because  I  'm  thinking  about  you." 

"  Of  me  ?  "  she  asked,  as  if  it  were  a  merry  jest. 


128  THE   MANNERINGS 

"  Yes.  I  don't  understand  you  very  well.  I  never 
did.  I  get  speculating  about  it.'* 

Lorraine  had  put  her  own  hands  into  her  little  use 
less  pockets,  in  a  whimsical  imitation.  She  looked 
very  sweet,  yet  irresponsible. 

"  I  'm  a  simple  proposition,  Dickie,"  she  announced 
good-naturedly. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  don't  understand  your  motives. 
Sometimes  I  want  to  know  why  you  do  things." 

Lorraine  laughed. 

"  But  what  if  I  don't  know  myself  ?  I  don't.  I 
never  do.  I  can't  split  hairs  —  like  Natalie." 

The  name  was  like  a  sudden  little  breath  between 
them.  Dick,  recalled,  seemed  to  shake  himself,  as  if 
he  thrust  away  a  forbidden  mood. 

"  Come  along,"  said  Lorraine,  tugging  at  the  door. 
"  Come  home  to  supper.  Pouf  !  what  a  cold  breath." 

Dick  was  rather  silent  on  the  way  home,  and  she 
sang  bits  of  song,  forgetting  him.  At  the  door,  they 
met  Natalie.  She  had  been  walking  fast,  and  there 
was  a  dogged  courage  in  her  face.  Dick  stroked  the 
soft  fur  of  her  jacket  once,  in  an  absent  way,  as  he 
went  into  the  hall  behind  her. 

"  Good  time,  Natalie  ?  "  he  asked.  But  he  did  not 
remember  to  ask  why  she  had  gone  alone. 

They  walked  in  together,  all  alive  and  reddened  by 
the  cold,  Lorraine  still  singing.  Mannering  and  his 
wife  stood  there  confronting  each  other.  They  had 
just  met  in  the  hall,  whither  he  had  hurried,  the  even 
ing  paper  in  his  grasp. 

"  Good  God,  Katharine  !  "  he  exclaimed,  in  a  shak 
ing  voice,  "  do  you  know  what 's  happened  ?  " 

The  others  looked  at  him  while  he  pointed  out  a 


TWO   DAUGHTERS  OF  ONE   RACE  129 

page  of  the  paper  with  an  eager  hand.  "Here  are 
two  letters,  long  letters,  signed,  protesting  against 
'  Hearts  Inspired.'  An  immoral  book,  they  call  it, 
an  immoral  book !  " 

Katharine  gave  an  involuntary  glance  at  the  others, 
and  stepped  forward  as  if  to  cut  off  further  revelation. 
She  felt  a  quick  community  of  interest  with  him. 
This  was  something  he  could  feel  —  it  was  disgrace. 
He,  like  her,  she  knew,  must  be  covered  with  the 
shame  of  it ;  but  his  voice,  directed  now  toward  Rich 
ard,  enlightened  her. 

"  Dick,  old  man,"  he  was  saying,  "  we  are  made  ! 
An  immoral  book  !  By  Jove  !  that  sells  it." 

"  It 's  good  for  a  thousand  copies,"  said  Richard 
indifferently. 

"  Good  for  a  thousand  !  "  echoed  Mannering  ex 
citedly.  "  Good  for  ten  thousand  !  I  'm  the  luckiest 
man  in  these  United  States." 


XIII 

MADAM   WALSINGHAM 

THE  two  girls  ran  upstairs  to  make  ready  for  din 
ner,  and  Richard  took  a  brief  leave,  promising  to 
come  back  after  his  supper  at  the  other  house.  Man- 
nering,  against  his  will,  was  left  alone  with  Katha 
rine.  Yet  he  was  really  too  much  absorbed  in  the 
newspaper  letters  to  give  her  more  than  an  incidental 
thought,  and  that  was  grounded  in  the  certainty  that 
she,  too,  must  be  in  some  degree  grateful  for  what  they 
had  received.  He  went  back  into  the  library,  reading 
snatches  from  the  letters  with  accompanying  chuckles, 
and  she  followed  him.  The  old  captain  sat  there  by 
the  fire  in  a  state  of  somnolent  satisfaction  over  the 
imminence  of  dinner;  but  Katharine  did  not  heed  him. 

"  Let  me  see  the  paper,"  she  said,  and  Mannering 
gave  it  to  her,  pointing  out  the  column  with  a  tremu 
lous  forefinger.  Then  he  stood  watching  her,  swaying 
his  eyeglass  by  its  cord,  and  balancing  back  and  forth  on 
the  balls  of  his  feet,  in  a  way  she  hated.  Even  through 
the  absorption  of  her  reading,  that  little  trick  pursued 
her  like  a  fly,  and  she  had  to  resist  the  irritated  im 
pulse  to  put  up  a  hand  and  brush  it  away.  She  ran 
rapidly  over  the  two  letters.  They  were  from  indig 
nant  women,  scarifying  the  book  in  very  good  English. 
When  she  looked  up  at  him,  he  nodded  out  his  triumph. 

"  It  has  caught  on,  Katie,"  said  he.  "  Don't  you 
see  it  has  caught  on  ?  " 


MADAM  WALSINGHAM  131 

She  was  gazing  at  him  gravely  with  no  emotion  in 
her  face.  He  felt  relief.  She  seemed  to  have  taken 
some  steps  on  the  road  to  reason. 

"  Did  you  mean  what  you  said  to  Dick  ?  "  she  asked 
him. 

"  What  ?  " 

"  You  said  you  were  lucky.  Do  you  mean  to  print 
more  editions  ?  " 

"  I  've  got  to  print  them.  They  're  called  for, 
Katie,  they  're  called  for.  A  thing  like  this  is  worth 
weeks  of  common  advertising." 

"  I  have  asked  you  to  suppress  the  book ;  I  have 
begged  you,  threatened  you.  Last  night  you  yielded 
me  a  point.  To-day  " 

Immediately  he  saw  himself  back  on  their  old 
battle-ground,  and  he  made  the  only  feint  invention 
recommended. 

"  Dinner  must  be  ready.  I  've  got  to  go  in  town 
to-night." 

"  Got  to  go  in  town  ?  "  echoed  the  old  captain,  in 
the  querulous  tone  of  one  who  has  received  unwelcome 
news  while  dinner  is  still  afar.  Brice  clutched  eagerly 
at  a  change  of  speakers.  He  went  over  to  the  hearth 
and  put  a  hand  on  his  father's  shoulder. 

"  Yes,  father,  yes,"  he  said  soothingly.  "  Business, 
you  know,  business  !  I  '11  come  out  on  the  late  train. 
That  is,  if  I  can  make  it."  This  he  added  in  haste, 
for,  with  a  terrified  premonition,  he  saw  Katharine 
sitting  up  for  him  and  again  wasting  the  night  in 
talk.  Nothing  was  more  unusual  than  for  him  to 
break  the  habit  of  his  orderly  life  by  an  evening  trip 
back  to  town,  and  Katharine  knew  it.  She  stood  for 
a  moment  regarding  him  in  a  thoughtful  way,  and 


132  THE   MANNERINGS 

then,  as  dinner  was  served,  they  moved  out  together  in 
silence. 

Lorraine  enlivened  the  following  hour,  evidently 
quite  content,  though  no  one  helped  her.  She  talked 
inconsequently,  like  a  bird  fluttering  from  bough  to 
bough.  They  were  grateful  to  her :  all,  perhaps,  but 
Madam  Walsingham,  to  whom,  on  her  impartial  van 
tage  ground,  chatter  and  silence  were  alike  a  part  of 
the  game. 

When  Dick  came  in  that  evening,  he  sat  down  at 
once  at  the  piano,  but  Madam  Walsingham  beckoned 
him  to  her  place  by  the  recessed  window. 

"  Come  here,  young  man,"  she  said.  "  You  and  I 
must  get  acquainted." 

Dick  obeyed  with  a  ready  deference.  He  was  by 
nature  the  friend  of  all  who  would  open  their  minds 
to  him,  and  Madam  Walsingham  was  an  unalloyed 
delight.  He  adored  her  picturesqueness.  She  piqued 
his  love  of  mystery.  They  were  alone  in  the  room, 
and  when  she  motioned  him  to  a  low  chair  in  front  of 
her,  he  felt  at  once  flattered  and  confidential.  Madam 
Walsingham  settled  the  lace  over  her  little  hands, 
and  regarded  him  with  a  smile  he  liked.  But  her 
first  words  surprised  him. 

"  So  you  are  engaged  to  Natalie  !  " 

Dick  hesitated  a  second  before  answering.  It  was 
not  that  he  ignored  his  engagement  to  Natalie,  even  in 
his  own  mind,  but  it  had  become  an  integral  part  of 
life ;  he  hardly  classed  it  as  a  conventional  tie.  A  man 
long  married  might  be  disconcerted  by  the  suggestion 
that  he  should  prove  whether  he  had  a  wife  at  all. 

"Yes,"  he  said  after  a  moment,  in  his  best  manner, 
"  of  course  I  am  engaged  to  Natalie." 


MADAM   WALSINGHAM  133 

"  How  long  have  you  been  engaged  ? "  asked 
Madam  Walsingham  confidentially. 

Dick  frowned ;  speaking  by  the  card  perplexed  him. 
Then  he  answered,  — 

"  It  was  the  year  after  Lorraine  went  abroad." 

"  Ah !  the  year  after  Lorraine  was  married  ?  " 

He  looked  at  her  in  a  frank  betrayal. 

"  Yes,  Madam  Walsingham." 

She  leaned  forward,  and  tapped  him  gently  on  the 
arm. 

"  You  were  a  lucky  boy,"  she  said,  "  to  get  Nata 
lie.  Tell  me  about  it.  How  did  it  happen?  But  I 
can  guess.  After  Lorraine  was  married,  you  came 
out  here  and  talked  things  over." 

Dick  felt  the  comfortable  warmth  of  her  manner, 
and  gladly  yielded  himself. 

"  Yes,  Madam  Walsingham.  I  fancy  I  'd  never 
taken  much  notice  of  Natalie  before.  She  was 
younger.  But  then  we  began  to  talk  together.  And 
—  that 's  all  there  was  about  it."  But  certain  memo 
ries  did  rush  back  upon  him  as  he  spoke,  echoes  silent 
now  for  years.  He  remembered  how  he  had  brought 
to  Natalie  the  hurt  Lorraine  had  dealt  him ;  he  re 
membered  her  passionate  young  warmth  in  comfort, 
and  the  self-forgetful  sweetness  with  which  she  had 
accepted  his  trouble  as  a  common  load.  The  vision 
was  confused,  but  it  was  very  moving.  As  to  Natalie, 
he  had  fallen  into  the  habit  of  certainty  men  accord 
their  wives.  She  was  a  tender  and  serviceable  right 
hand.  He  never  really  thought  of  her. 

"  Ah,"  said  Madam  Walsingham  delicately,  "  you  're 
a  lucky  boy!  But  she 's  made  a  mistake  in  putting  you 
off  all  these  years.  You  ought  to  have  married  earlier." 


134  THE   MANNERINGS 

Dick  crimsoned.  He  threw  back  his  head  in  a  way 
he  had  on  sudden  confession.  "  Madam  Walsingham," 
he  said,  "  I  'm  ashamed,  but  —  I  've  been  too  poor." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Madam  Walsingham,  in  soft  commis 
eration.  Then  her  tone  changed  delightfully.  "  Ah, 
well,"  she  conceded,  "  Natalie  does  n't  mind.  She 
knows  you  're  working  for  her." 

Dick  had  a  confused  sense  of  either  censure  or  sym 
pathy  cunningly  flavored ;  he  could  not  name  the 
brand.  At  that  moment,  Lorraine  came  into  the 
room.  Since  she  had  not  had  time  to  dress  carefully 
before  dinner,  she  had  chosen  to  do  it  after,  and  she 
was  a  marvel  of  lustrous  hues  softened,  Richard 
thought  with  a  throb  of  delight  in  her,  by  the  foam 
of  lace. 

"  Please  may  I  have  Dick,  grannie  ? "  she  asked 
sweetly. 

"  No,  my  dear,"  returned  Madam  Walsingham,  with 
equal  sweetness.  "  Not  for  ten  minutes.  Go  into 
the  next  room.  There 's  Mr.  Gilbert  Home.  You 
can  amuse  yourself  with  him.  I  '11  call  you  when 
you  're  wanted." 

Lorraine  made  up  her  face  deliciously,  and  then 
went  into  the  library,  her  shining  drapery  trailing 
after.  She  took  a  seat  near  Home.  Madam  Wal 
singham  at  once  smiled  Richard  into  acquiescence. 

"  I  did  want  to  talk  it  over,"  she  said,  "it  is  all  so 
interesting  —  you  and  Natalie.  You  know,  dear 
young  man,  I  don't  care  for  these  long  engagements." 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Richard,  loyally.    "  Heavens  !  nor  I." 

At  that  moment,  Natalie,  a  slender  white  figure 
crossed  the  hall  going  also  into  the  next  room,  and  his 
eyes  followed  her  with  a  keenness  he  felt  he  must 


MADAM   WALSINGHAM  135 

interrogate  in  himself.  Nobody  had  talked  of  their 
marrying.  He  and  Natalie  had  not  mentioned  it  for 
a  long  time.  This  balancing  of  accounts  shocked  him 
into  a  state  of  mind  he  hardly  liked. 

"  But  if  there  's  enough  pleasure  in  it,  after  all," 
said  Madam  Walsingham,  tapping  her  knee  thought 
fully  with  her  hand,  "  that  might  compensate.  It  has 
advantages.  It's  the  prolongation  of  a  delightful 
state.  It 's  full  of  flowers,  courtesies,  vows,  the  things 
women  love  most.  That 's  as  you  would  conceive  it. 
But  there  are  other  men,  there  's  another  sort  of  man 
—  well !  well !  "  She  smiled  at  him  in  a  sympathetic 
condemnation  of  those  absent  lack- wits.  It  implied 
an  understanding  of  him,  one  that  warmed  his  heart. 

"  What  kind  of  men  ?  "  asked  Dick. 

Madam  Walsingham  looked  him  in  the  face  a  mo 
ment,  a  smile  growing  upon  her  lips.  It  broadened 
into  merriment.  She  leaned  forward,  as  if  she  were 
making  him  an  enormous  confidence  with  which  he 
would  be  proportionately  pleased. 

"They  think,"  she  said  emphatically,  in  a  half 
whisper,  "  that  if  the  woman  is  to  possess  them  in  the 
end,  that  is  enough.  They  omit  to  learn  that  an  ever 
lasting  courtship  is  the  secret  of  a  woman's  happiness. 
They  think  when  they  fail  to  do  the  little  things  she 
loves,  '  Why,  she  's  got  me  !  '  That 's  what  they  say, 
the  dear,  delicious  things.  4  She  's  got  me  !  '  Fun 
lurked  in  her  glance,  mingled  with  a  warming  flattery. 
Richard  also  laughed  at  the  men  so  self-deceived. 

"  Women  have  a  hard  time  turning  love  into  com 
panionship,"  she  went  on  reflectively,  as  if  her  mind 
traveled  a  long  way  back.  "  I  had  a  sister  once  who 
made  a  great  pother  reconstructing  herself  to  please 


136  THE   MANNERINGS 

the  man  she  married.  The  first  two  years  she  was 
very  happy.  Then  he  got  quite  used  to  her  and  she 
brooded.  Then  she  fell  into  that  infernal  state  of 
mind  where  women  think  it 's  no  matter  what  hap 
pens  to  them,  so  some  one  else  is  suited.  They  were 
married  after  long  waiting,  I  remember.  The  man 
was  rather  poor,  and  not  addicted  to  hard  work.  He 
delayed  until  she  inherited  something.  And  when  he 
took  her  at  last,  she  was  neither  very  glad  nor  very 
sorry.  The  splendid  dash  and  go  of  it  were  over." 

"  Ah,  but  if  they  could  be  over  they  would  have 
been  over  anyway,"  said  Dick,  in  swift  defense  not  of 
the  other  man,  but  of  all  men  against  her  bitter  mem 
ories.  "  It  would  have  happened  quite  the  same." 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  yes,"  replied  the  old  lady,  "  that 's 
a  nice  platitude.  But  at  least  there  would  have  been 
some  red  blood  in  it.  Some  courage !  Women  don't 
forgive  that  —  lack  of  courage.  They  won't  say  so, 
but  it  sits  and  eats  and  eats  them,  like  the  fox.  The 
man  they  love  must  have  that  one  thing  —  courage." 

Dick  sat  looking  rather  pale  and  very  thoughtful. 
The  blank  walls  of  decision  loomed  before  him.  Sud 
denly  he  glanced  up  at  her. 

"  What  became  of  her,  Madam  Walsingham  ?  "  he 
asked,  —  "your  sister." 

"  She  had  a  child  or  two,"  said  Madam  Walsing 
ham  carelessly.  "  They  grew  up.  She  tried  despair, 
and  did  n't  like  it.  She  tried  religion,  and  did  n't  care 
for  that.  Then  she  took  to  cultivating  her  mind.  But 
it 's  very  long  ago,  long  ago." 

"  Are  you  like  her  ?  "  asked  Dick,  with  some  soft 
ness  of  pity,  he  hardly  knew  for  what. 

The  old  lady  hesitated  a  moment.     Then  she  said 


MADAM   WALSINGHAM  137 

slowly,  "  I  think  Natalie  is  a  little  like  her,  as  she  was 
at  one  time.  Now,  run  to  Lorraine,  if  you  want  to. 
She 's  a  tempting  playmate,  is  n't  she  ?  " 

"  That 's  it,"  returned  Dick  heartily.  "  You  've  hit 
it  now.  She  's  a  good  fellow,  a  splendid  playmate." 

"  Dear  lad,"  said  the  old  lady,  again  putting  a 
detaining  finger  on  his  sleeve,  "  it 's  partly  because 
she  's  happy.  That 's  her  charm.  And  you  can't 
make  her  unhappy.  So  her  charm  will  be  perennial. 
Try  Natalie,  just  for  curiosity.  Make  her  happy  over 
all  kinds  of  foolish  normal  things  and  see  if  you  don't 
get  a  playmate  out  of  her." 

"  Yes,"  said  Dick,  "  yes,  of  course."  But  his  eyes 
were  on  Lorraine  where  she  sat  swinging  her  fan  by  a 
silken  cord,  and  laughing  roundly  at  Gilbert  Home. 
Natalie  was  to  be  included  in  the  proposition,  but  she 
could  wait.  She  was  always,  there,  and  Lorraine  gave 
the  impression  of  willful,  evanescent  charm.  Like  the 
sunset  she  must  be  caught,  or  there  would  be  an  end. 

"  There  is  only  one  person  likely  to  get  any  power 
over  Lorraine,"  said  Madam  Walsingham,  as  he  rose, 
"  and  that 's  that  brute  Levinski." 

"  What !  "  His  voice  rang  loudly.  It  startled  him, 
and  Natalie  looked  across  at  him  from  the  other 
room. 

"  Not  a  bad  fellow,  but  simple  normal  brute.  He 's 
more  selfish  even  than  Lorraine,  and  the  force  of  it 
fascinates  her.  She  '11  end  by  marrying  him.  Good 
night,  Richard  Home.  I  'm  going  to  my  room." 

Dick  gave  her  a  courteous  hand,  and  she  leaned  on 
it,  walking  to  the  stairs.  There  she  dismissed  him, 
and  he  stood  for  a  moment  thinking  of  Levinski  before 
he  went  into  the  next  room.  There  he  walked  up  to 


138  THE   MANNERINGS 

Natalie,  reading  under  a  lamp.  The  pink  shade  had 
flushed  her  face,  and  her  hair  was  a  golden  wonder. 
She  looked  like  some  untouched  spirit  of  the  morning. 
Dick  went  round  and  bent  to  her  ear. 

"  Natalie,"  he  whispered,  "  are  you  pretty  comfort 
able?" 

She  closed  her  book  upon  one  ringer  and  looked  up 
at  him  with  the  smile  he  knew  so  well.  It  was  gentle 
as  a  mother's,  full  of  tender  interest  in  him  and  his 
work  or  play. 

"  Here  ?  "  she  asked,  —  "  in  this  chair  ?     Oh  yes  !  " 

"  No  !  no  !  all  the  time,  I  mean.  Are  you  dissat 
isfied  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  said  Natalie,  "  I  am  not  dissatisfied." 

"  Children !  "  called  Lorraine,  "  no  whispering. 
Come  here,  both  of  you.  I  want  to  talk  to  you. 
I  've  had  a  letter  from  Levinski.  You  know,  Dick. 
He  's  not  well,  not  by  any  means  well.  This  climate 
is  very  bad  for  him.  He  won't  be  out  of  New  York 
this  winter.  You  '11  have  to  go,  Dick.  I  've  told 
your  uncle  you  are  going." 

Dick  had  straightened  himself,  and  he  stood  look 
ing  at  her,  while  she  talked  to  them  all  with  a  perfect 
confidence  in  their  responsive  interest.  Her  beauty, 
the  life  in  her,  were  like  a  challenge,  and  one  that 
could  be  answered,  he  was  sure,  without  dishonor. 
Her  personal  charm  seemed  a  part  of  nature;  it  defied 
moralities.  She  was  a  child  of  the  earth,  not  of  the 
upper  air  made  by  our  beliefs.  His  blood  responded 
to  her. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  '11  go."  He  went  over  to 
her,  and  Natalie  opened  her  book  and  went  on  read 
ing. 


MADAM   WALSINGHAM  139 

Before  they  separated  that  night,  Dick  said  to  Lor 
raine  left  alone  with  him  in  the  hall,  — 

"  I  did  n't  know  your  grandmother  had  a  sister." 

"  No,  grannie  had  no  sister." 

"  Yes,  one  that  married  late,  after  a  long  engage 
ment." 

"Grannie  herself  married  late.  Her  engagement 
was  a  long  one." 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment  in  what  seemed  to  Lor 
raine  something  more  than  wonder.  "  Why  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Nothing,"  said  Dick.     "  I  did  n't  know." 


XIV 

NATALIE 

GILBERT  HORNE  went  home  rather  early,  and 
Natalie,  who  had  been  waiting  in  the  dining-room, 
slipped  out  at  the  side  door  and  ran  after  him.  He 
heard  her  light  step  and  stayed  for  her,  under  the 
trees.  She  came  up  to  him  bareheaded,  and  stopped 
beside  him  in  the  path.  The  black  trunks  of  the 
trees  cut  great  silhouettes  upon  the  snow.  The  orchard 
was  full  of  meaning,  of  an  absorbed,  solemn  beauty, 
as  if  it  had  grown  and  nourished  on  the  life  of  both 
old  houses. 

"Mr.  Gilbert,"  she  began  breathlessly,  as  if  she 
had  been  running  far. 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  you  "  —  but  she  stopped.  The 
silent  habit  of  her  life  made  it  impossible  to  go  on. 
His  eyes  had  grown  used  to  the  darkness,  and  he 
spoke  hastily,  — 

"  You  've  got  nothing  on  your  head,  and  only  that 
thin  thing  over  your  shoulders.  I  dare  say  you  're  in 
slippers,  too." 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  you  something,"  said  Natalie, 
without  heeding.  "  Wait  one  minute,  till  I  can." 

"  Let  me  go  back  into  the  house  with  you." 

"  No,  no !  I  can't  talk  there." 

"  Then  come  over  with  me." 


NATALIE  141 

"  I  'm  not  cold.  Mr.  Gilbert,  is  Dick  —  do  you 
think  he  means  to  go  away  with  her  —  Lorraine  ?  " 

Gilbert  hesitated  an  instant.  Then  he  spoke 
gravely.  "  I  'm  afraid  so,  Natalie.  They  are  plan 
ning  out  the  trip." 

She  stood  quite  still,  her  hands  clenched  together ; 
but  her  voice  shook  in  spite  of  her,  as  if  her  teeth 
chattered  upon  the  words  :  — 

"  Dick  has  told  me,  of  course.  I  knew  it.  But 
I  wanted  to  be  sure  whether  he  really  meant  it,  — 
whether  you  think  so." 

There  was  a  great  rock  near  the  path,  and  Home, 
while  she  was  speaking,  took  her  hand  and  lifted  her 
upon  it,  so  that  she  stood  above  him. 

"  Stay  there,  child,"  he  said  kindly.  "  If  you  must 
get  your  death,  don't  do  it  by  freezing  your  feet. 
Yes,  I  fancy  Dick  will  go." 

She  stood  there  outlined  like  some  slender  statue, 
the  tree  trunks  keeping  guard  about  her. 

"When?"  she  asked. 

"  Not  for  a  week  or  two.  He  wants  to  get  his  work 
into  shape.  He  means  to  take  his  vacation  now. 
They  '11  let  him  do  it." 

"  Then  he  '11  only  stay  two  weeks  ?  " 

"They  say  so.  They  will  have  tried  it  on  the 
smaller  towns.  Your  sister  calls  it  going  into  the 
provinces." 

"  Only  two  weeks !  "  repeated  Natalie.  Then  her 
voice  changed.  "  It  will  be  more,"  she  said  piercingly. 
"  The  thing  will  succeed.  Everything  succeeds  with 
her.  It  will  be  always,  always  !  " 

In  his  heart  Home  agreed  with  her,  but  he  could 
not  say  so. 


142  THE   MANNERINGS 

"  We  '11  see,  Natalie,"  he  ventured,  but  she  did  not 
heed  him. 

"  He  has  no  time,"  she  went  on.  "  If  there  were 
more  time,  —  if  he  were  younger  —  Mr.  Gilbert,  he 
is  thirty  now." 

"  Yes,  Natalie." 

"  Good-night,"  she  said  suddenly.  "  Good-night, 
Mr.  Gilbert."  She  stepped  lightly  down,  and  when 
he  turned  to  go  with  her,  she  was  vanishing  through 
the  dark.  He  walked  on  toward  the  house  behind 
her  and  saw  her  go  in  at  the  side  door.  At  that  mo 
ment  Kichard  came  down  from  the  veranda,  and 
strode  into  the  orchard  path,  whistling. 

"  Hallo !  "  he  called,  finding  his  uncle  in  front  of 
him.  "  Hallo  !  I  thought  you  went  home  long  ago." 

"  Yes.     Plans  all  made,  Dick  ?  " 

"What  plans?" 

"  Throwing  over  your  job ;  trotting  after  Terp 
sichore." 

"  Oh  come,  old  Gil,  don't  sermonize ! " 

"No.     Plans  aU  settled?" 

They  had  reached  the  house,  and  Richard  followed 
him  in.  He  stood  for  a  moment  in  the  library,  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  his  face  flushed  with  the  premo 
nition  of  applause. 

"  I  can  play  devilish  well,"  he  said,  not  looking 
up.  "  It  would  n't  be  bad  to  see  what  we  can  make 
of  it." 

They  were  standing  before  the  fireplace  where  there 
was  a  glowing  bed  of  coals.  Cassie  never  let  the 
flame  fail  when  the  master  was  away. 

"  Dick,"  said  Gilbert  suddenly,  "  look  at  me.  What 
do  you  see  ?  " 


NATALIE  143 

"  An  uncommonly  nice  old  boy,"  said  Dick  affec 
tionately. 

"  You  see  a  failure,"  said  Gilbert,  looking  still  at 
the  fire.  "  And  I  am  quite  comfortable  in  it.  That 's 
the  worst  of  it.  You  and  I  are  very  much  alike,  though 
you  've  got  some  showy  gifts  I  have  n't.  We  both 
lack  what  makes  the  earth,  in  the  end,  worth  while  to 
a  man.  But  no  one  can  stand  aloof  from  the  scheme 
of  things  and  not  regret  it.  I  wish  there  had  been 
something  big  enough  to  kick  me  back  into  the  fight." 

"  So  you  end  by  kicking  me,"  said  Dick,  with  a 
hand  on  Gilbert's  shoulder.  "  Confound  you,  I  'm 
not  in  a  bad  way.  I  'm  only  going  touring  for  two 
weeks ;  then  I  shall  return  to  my  muttons." 

"  All  right,  Dick,"  said  Gilbert  sadly,  "  so  long  as 
you  return." 

Natalie  had  gone  at  once  upstairs  to  her  room,  a 
large  one  with  unfriendly  furniture  where  she  did  not 
feel  at  home.  She  hurried  into  a  wrapper,  and  then 
sat  down  by  the  fire,  her  bare  feet  close  to  the  blaze. 
Her  face  fell  into  that  drooping  pallor  it  gained  when 
she  was  alone  and,  as  it  always  happened  now,  mus 
ing  on  Richard  Home.  The  character  of  her  thoughts 
had  changed,  in  a  curious  fashion,  through  these  years 
which  had  made  him  the  centre  of  her  life.  At  first 
there  had  been  a  natural  happiness  so  sweet  she  never 
now  looked  back  to  it,  having  an  unrecognized  resolve 
to  keep  that  memory  to  feed  on  when  she  should  be 
old.  Then  there  had  been  a  year  of  wild  bewilder 
ment  because  he  seemed,  in  his  contrast  to  that  first 
ecstasy,  not  to  care  for  her  at  all ;  and  after  that  she 
had  taken  the  road  of  dull  endurance.  In  the  days 
when  she  was  still  articulate  about  it,  she  used  to  put 


144  THE   MANNERINGS 

him  away  from  her  too-clinging  thought,  and  summon 
the  certainties  that  told  her  love  was  over.  "  He  does 
not  come  to  me  when  he  wants  to  be  happy,"  she  would 
muse.  "  Therefore  he  does  not  love  me.  He  does 
not  seek  his  pleasures  with  me.  He  takes  them  with 
other  people.  He  comes  to  me  when  he  is  in  trouble, 
when  he  wants  to  talk  about  Lorraine,  because  he  is 
used  to  coming,  and  because  he  is  kind.  It  is  not  love. 
He  does  not  love  me." 

An  unnatural  toughening  process  had  begun  in  her, 
as  it  does  in  women  who,  after  a  delusive  companion 
ing,  learn  to  live  alone.  But  latterly  ah1  her  thoughts 
had  crowded  into  one  channel ;  she  wished  him  to  suc 
ceed.  She  saw  him  forever  hovering  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  battle  we  call  life ;  in  his  eyes,  it  was  no  war 
fare  at  all.  She  had  ceased  even  to  desire  him  for 
herself.  That  struggle  was  well  over.  He  was  not 
in  any  sense  hers,  her  bitter  experience  told  her.  But 
like  a  mother  who  importunes  heaven's  largess  for 
her  child,  she  implored  the  unseen  givers  of  gifts 
for  him  alone.  In  some  unreasoning  way,  she  felt  al 
most  as  if  her  renunciation  had  bought  something  for 
him,  at  a  price.  To-night  she  reviewed  the  old,  sad 
thoughts  that  came  not  savagely  now,  in  whirling  on 
slaught,  as  they  used  to  come,  but  like  persistent  crea 
tures  bound  to  batter  at  the  gate  until  the  gate  should 
fall.  Love  between  them,  as  women  think  of  love, 
was  a  lost  cause  ;  but  something  still  stayed  sleeplessly 
on  guard.  It  was  that  something  in  her  which  was 
fighting  for  him.  It  was  that  which  counseled  her  to 
stand  beside  him  while  he  wanted  her  in  any  degree, 
even  though  the  spirit  of  their  bond  were  dead.  But 
suddenly,  dulled  though  she  was  to  the  cravings  of 


NATALIE  145 

her  own  spirit,  she  stretched  her  hands  to  heaven,  and 
spoke  aloud  in  a  small,  thin  voice,  — 

"  I  am  lonesome.     God,  I  am  very  lonesome  !  " 

She  got  up,  lighted  a  candle,  and  took  it  to  the  long 
mirror  between  the  windows.  She  leaned  forward, 
and  looked  her  unhappy  face  in  the  eyes.  The  white 
wrapper  fell  away  from  her  slender  throat,  where  a 
little  chain  Richard  had  given  her  lay  like  a  vein  of 
gold.  Her  red  gold  hair  went  billowing  down  her 
back,  a  shower  she  could  drench  herself  in  half  over 
her  body.  There  she  looked  for  a  moment,  and  then 
another. 

"  It  is  because  I  am  not  beautiful,"  she  said.  "  It 
is  because  I  am  not  beautiful." 

Yet  she  had  an  honest  mind,  and  she  knew  beauty 
was  there,  like  a  flame  of  fire  burning  with  the  eager 
ness  of  the  spirit.  She  knew  it  was  only  the  cru 
elty  of  life  that  had  kept  it  from  blossoming  into  the 
lustrous  comeliness  which  is  earth's  alone.  When  she 
had  believed  in  love,  she  could  remember  the  rose 
ate  hues  that  lingered  on  her  flesh,  the  curves  her  lips 
had  taken.  On  those  days,  she  had  not  dared  regard 
them  for  their  sweetness.  Now  she  was  the  ghost  of 
that  young  self.  She  set  the  candle  on  a  stand  be 
side  the  mirror,  and  brought  her  hair  on  either  side 
of  her  face,  a  burning  lustre.  She  bared  her  arms  to 
the  shoulder,  and  looked  at  them.  It  was  a  most  in 
nocent  appraisement  of  a  woman  life  had  rejected  for 
life's  uses.  Body  and  soul  she  had  dedicated  herself 
to  the  worship  of  one  creature,  and,  she  told  herself 
dispassionately,  he  had  never,  save  for  the  first  sur 
prise  of  it,  felt  more  than  the  breath  of  that  worship 
in  his  nostrils. 


146  THE  MANNERINGS 

"  Strange  !  "  she  whispered,  "  strange  !  "  She 
walked  away  from  her  image  in  the  glass  because  it 
was  too  terrible  a  confidant.  "  I  have  no  mate,"  she 
said,  going  back  to  her  seat  by  the  fire.  "  I  am  the 
only  creature  in  the  world  that  loves  so  much  —  and 
I  have  no  mate." 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  She  was  silent, 
but  it  came  again. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  she  called. 

"  Lorraine." 

Natalie  ran  to  the  door,  and  flung  it  open. 

"  Come  in,"  she  cried  breathlessly.  "  Come  !  I 
want  to  look  at  you." 

Lorraine  also  was  in  white,  her  thick  brown  hair 
piled  loosely  on  the  top  of  her  head.  She  had  yawned 
her  face  into  a  rosy  softness. 

"  Bless  me,  Natalie,  how  pretty  you  are !  "  she  said, 
dropping  down  before  the  fire  and  yawning  again. 
"  I  wish  I  had  your  hair." 

Now  that  she  was  in  the  room,  Natalie  had  nothing 
to  say  to  her  ;  but  she  stood  looking  down  at  her 
with  that  curious  fascination,  half  terror,  Lorraine 
inspired  in  her  of  late.  When  she  opened  her  lips, 
the  words  were  quite  unlike  any  she  would  have 
chosen. 

"  Lorraine,  did  you  like  your  husband  ?  " 

Lorraine  looked  unaffectedly  surprised.  No  one 
had  spoken  of  her  husband  since  the  first  month  or 
two  after  his  death,  and  her  thoughts  had  followed 
the  same  decorous  code.  "  Hasketh  ?  "  she  asked,  as 
if  Natalie  had  been  introducing  a  new  person  about 
whom  they  both  might  be  a  little  curious.  "  Oh,  yes, 
of  course  !  Hasketh  was  a  dear." 


NATALIE  147 

"  What  does  it  seem  to  you,"  urged  Natalie,  led 
on  now  by  an  irrepressible  curiosity  to  get  inside  that 
sweet  skin  and  think  Lorraine's  thoughts  for  a  mo 
ment,  "  women's  caring  about  men  ?  Do  they  always 
care  terribly  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  I  guess  not,"  said  Lorraine,  yawning. 
"  Are  you  sleepy  ?  I  want  to  talk  about  my  clothes. 
I  have  three  dancing  dresses.  Would  you  take  them 
all?" 

"  Yes,  I  should  take  them  all,"  said  Natalie,  re 
called  from  dangerous  essays.  "  Good-night,  Lor 
raine.  Run  back  to  bed." 

"  But  I  'm  not  ready."  Lorraine  got  up,  stagger 
ing  prettily  with  drowsiness. 

"  No,  but  you  're  sleepy.     Go." 


XV 

A  NEW   NOTE 

THE  local  sale  of  "  Hearts  Inspired  "  was  something 
beyond  precedent.  Long  reviews  had  held  it  up  to 
praise  and  obloquy.  It  was  stigmatized  as  an  immoral 
book,  and  credited  with  rude  force  and  glowing  fancy. 
The  writer  was  named  in  one  breath  with  the  Brontes, 
and  again  with  Frenchmen  whose  names  are  rank  in 
the  nostrils.  Meantime  Mannering  did  audacious  ad 
vertising.  It  was  hardly  possible  to  take  a  journey 
or  to  eat  luncheon  in  a  cafe,  without  meeting  the 
inquiry,  more  or  less  ingeniously  put,  — 

"  Have  you  read  c  Hearts  Inspired  '  ?  " 

Richard  was  caught  by  the  effrontery  of  the  affair, 
and,  in  moments  of  leisure,  set  his  hand  to  the  wheel. 
He  wrote  rhymes,  comments,  puns,  imaginary  con 
versations,  and  scattered  them  broadcast.  Other  cit 
ies  caught  the  infection.  Women's  clubs  began  to 
discuss  the  influence  of  the  book,  and  one  preacher 
denounced  it.  A  village  contingent,  primed  by  the 
press,  was  not  to  be  behindhand,  and  poured  in  impet 
uous  orders.  "  Hearts  Inspired  "  was  the  phenomenon 
of  the  hour,  and  Katharine  rubbed  her  eyes  and  won 
dered  if  she  could  be  awake. 

Mannering  took  lodgings  in  town,  ostensibly  be 
cause  he  was  overworked,  though  really,  as  his  inner 
self  had  counseled,  to  avoid  his  wife.  But  his  fears  \\vre 


A  NEW  NOTE  149 

groundless.  Since  the  night  when  he  had  repudiated 
his  promise  to  her,  she  had  only  spoken  to  him  inci 
dentally  about  the  practical  details  of  living.  She 
seemed  to  be  absorbed  in  thoughts  that  kept  her 
placid,  and  she  wore  a  determined  look  translated  by 
nobody  but  Elinor. 

"  I  shall  go,  Nell,"  she  said  one  morning  when  they 
both  sat  in  her  room  where  she  had  been  looking 
over  papers,  assorting  and  destroying.  Only  a  few 
bundles  were  left,  packed  into  a  little  closet  by  the 
fire.  Katharine  was  going  through  all  her  posses 
sions  in  that  way,  simplifying  and  getting  them  into  a 
small  compass.  Elinor  had  not  questioned,  but  she 
knew  the  way  the  wind  was  sitting. 

"  Where  shall  you  go  ?  "   she  asked  now. 

"  I  shall  go  to  the  city,  and  take  a  little  room.  I 
shall  get  work." 

"  Can  you  bear  it  ?  You  have  had  a  very  free 
life." 

"  I  am  strong,"  said  Katharine,  stretching  out  her 
hands  and  looking  at  them  rejoicingly.  "  I  can  stand 
anything.  If  I  can't,  I  don't  care." 

"  Come  abroad,  I^ate.  Come  with  me.  I  've  got 
enough  for  both  of  us." 

"  No,  Nell,  no !  I  want  to  be  independent.  I 
want  to  be  free,  even  from  you." 

Elinor  smiled  a  little  sadly  to  herself. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Katharine.  "  Why  do  you 
look  like  that  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  exactly.  I  was  thinking  what  hap 
piness  it  is  to  be  bound.  And  those  that  are  bound 
want  to  be  free.  But  I  love  your  courage.  You 
never  doubt  for  a  moment  that  it 's  right  for  you  to 
be  free." 


150  THE  MANNERINGS 

"  Right !  "  repeated  Katharine  intemperately. 
"  Right !  I  have  n't  thought  of  that  for  some  time. 
For  weeks  I  have  been  a  flame  of  fire  eating  and  eat 
ing  the  thing  that  keeps  it  down." 

"  We  are  different.  It  never  seems  to  me  possible 
to  escape,  except  by  staying  and  fighting  out  the  bat 
tle." 

"  It  is  possible  for  me,"  said  Katharine,  an  eloquent 
thrilling  in  her  voice.  "  You  need  n't  try  to  think 
me  good.  I  am  not  going  because  1  am  sure  it  is 
right.  I  am  going  because  I  will  go.  The  heavens 
themselves  shan't  keep  me  down.  I  '11  run  over  the 
horizon  into  the  pit.  Lord  !  Lord  !  for  the  minute  I 
thought  the  world  was  flat." 

They  laughed,  and  then  were  silent. 

"  Are  you  going  to  let  all  women  run  over  the  edge 
when  they  want  to  ?  "  ventured  Elinor. 

"  I  don't  know.     Ask  the  rat  in  a  trap  whether  he 

thinks  all  rats  ought  to  be  free.     Ask  the  bird  in  a 

cage  whether  he  approves  of  baths  in  little  dishes  and 

foolish  doles  of  seed.     I  don't  know.     Nell,  I  've  read 

Hearts  Inspired,'  read  it  through,  cover  to  cover." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it  ?  " 

"  What  did  you  think,  Nell  ?  " 

"  It 's  compelling.  I  don't  know  whether  it 's  good. 
It  is  n't  good  for  me.  It  says  4  Thou  shalt.'  I  need 
to  be  told,  4  Thou  shalt  not.'  " 

"  Perhaps,  —  but  I  've  never  had  any  morals.  I 
don't  want  to  do  wrong  things,  but  I  want  to  do  the 
things  I  was  made  to  do." 

"  But  « Hearts  Inspired  '  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Nell,  there  's  power  in  it." 

"  I  know  it.     Too  much." 


A  NEW  NOTE  151 

Katharine  clasped  her  hands  about  her  knees,  and 
looked  into  the  fire. 

"  Perhaps  I  can  do  another  book,"  she  said,  with 
that  mounting  courage  of  hers,  always  catching  at  the 
fleeing  future.  She  laughed  a  little.  "  If  you  and 
Gilbert  Home  will  teach  me  not  to  be  immoral !  You 
see,  Nell,  I  'm  deficient,  somehow.  These  lying,  cheat 
ing  things  seem  to  me  the  wrong  ones.  To  stay  with 
a  man  when  you  hate  him  —  that  seems  to  me  the 
basest  thing." 

"  Have  you  told  Gilbert  Home  ?  " 

"What?" 

"  About  leaving  Brice." 

"  No."  She  spoke  in  a  low  tone,  and  immediately 
they  both  felt  the  chill  of  some  air  not  to  be  pene 
trated  further. 

"  May  I  talk  to  him?  "  asked  Elinor. 

"  Why  should  you  talk  to  him  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  want  to  hear  what  he  would 
say.  He  has  known  you  better  than  I,  these  last 
years." 

Katharine  got  up,  her  face  eloquently  moved. 

"  He  was  all  I  had,"  she  said,  —  "  all." 

She  walked  away  out  of  the  room,  and  Elinor  made 
herself  busy  to  ignore  impressions  she  had  no  right 
to  keep.  When  she  went  down  into  the  library, 
she  found  Katharine  there  before  her,  with  Madam 
Walsingham.  The  old  lady  was  saying  from  her 
place  beside  the  fire,  — 

"  Well,  Mistress  Katharine,  I  Ve  read  the  wonderful 
book." 

"  What  book  ?  "  asked  Katharine,  with  a  courteous 
perversity. 


152  THE  MANNERINGS 

" '  Hearts   Inspired.'     A  silly  piece  of  business  !  " 

Honest  as  she  was  in  her  repudiation  of  the  book, 
Katharine  felt  the  pang  of  the  mother  who  sees  her 
child  assailed  and  who,  in  hot  instinct,  flies  to  its  de 
fense.  The  old  lady  was  holding  the  red  book  in  her 
lap.  As  she  talked,  she  turned  it  over  in  her  delicate 
hands,  and  Katharine  felt,  for  the  moment,  as  if  those 
keen  eyes  could  pierce  the  cover  and  read  her  name 
on  every  page. 

"  The  proposition  is  wrong,  all  wrong,"  said  Ma 
dam  Walsingham.  "  I  never  can  see  why  women 
are  always  assuming  that  the  only  medicine  for  ship 
wreck  with  one  man  is  to  set  sail  with  another." 

"  Is  n't  it  natural  ?  "  asked  Elinor,  to  draw  the  fire 
from  Katharine.  "  You  repudiate  the  false  because 
you  find  something  that  seems  true." 

"  Ah,  but  it 's  in  the  relation  itself,"  declared  the 
old  lady,  striking  her  fist  upon  the  book,  in  an  un 
wonted  passion.  "  It 's  the  bond.  Why  won't  any  of 
you  see  that  a  husband  's  a  husband  ?  You  take  a 
problematic  man  and  make  a  wonder  of  him.  Turn 
him  into  a  husband,  and  he 's  no  such  matter." 

A  flush  mounted  to  Elinor's  cheeks.  It  was  the 
hue  of  roses.  "  Madam  Walsingham,"  she  said,  with 
a  beautiful  deference,  "  I  cannot  let  you  say  that.  I 
cannot." 

Natalie  had  come  into  the  room  and,  caught  by  the 
significance  of  the  scene,  stayed,  listening.  Elinor 
stood  straight  and  tall,  her  eyes  burning  with  pure 
fire. 

"I  have  seen  it,"  she  said,  "marriage.  I  know  a 
great  deal  about  the  way  people  love  each  other  and 
serve  each  other  and  adore  the  bond  —  no,  they  think 


A  NEW   NOTE  153 

nothing  about  the  bond,  it  is  so  natural.  I  have 
seen  it  among  the  simplest  peasants,  worn  by  hard 
work,  browned  in  the  sun,  seamed  with  life  —  but  the 
way  those  old  hands  clasp  each  other  —  Oh,  Madam 
Walsingham !  "  Her  voice  choked  with  the  tears  in 
it,  and  she  stopped,  si^ced  by  her  own  inadequacy. 
Natalie  had  gone  swiftly  round,  and  stood  beside  her, 
as  if  she  ranged  herself  in  bold  alliance.  To  her 
starved  heart,  such  words  were  like  the  breath  of  life. 
She  touched  the  sacrament  and  for  the  first  time  broke 
the  bread  with  another  woman  who  confessed  to  the 
same  worship.  Madam  Walsingham  laughed  a  little, 
kindly. 

"  Bless  your  heart,  my  dear,  how  pretty  you  are  !  " 
she  said.  "  Why  did  n't  you  let  me  finish  ?  A  hus 
band  's  a  husband.  That 's  my  first  proposition. 
Accept  him,  but  don't  deify  him.  Make  a  civil  con 
tract  for  the  good  of  the  community,  and  abide  by  it. 
But  don't  arrange  a  system  of  worship,  and  eat  your 
heart  out  because  the  man  does  n't  conform  to  it.  He 
won't.  He  can't." 

Elinor  had  grown  pale  now,  and  she  spoke  gently. 

"  Yet,  Madam  Walsingham,  you  must  leave  us  that 
worship.  It  means  something.  A  great  Italian  told 
me  once  that  this  overplus  of  love  in  women  is  like 
pollen  on  the  flowers.  It  is  not  all  used.  It  is 
spilled,  wasted.  But  some  of  it  goes  to  fruit." 

"  You  come  here,  my  dear,"  said  the  old  lady. 
"  Give  me  your  hand.  There !  "  she  kissed  it  lightly. 
"  You  're  an  angelic  advocate.  It 's  no  credit  to  you. 
You  've  caught  sainthood  from  the  sky  and  pictures, 
down  there  in  your  Italy.  It 's  an  infection.  But  I 
kiss  your  hand." 


154  THE   MANNERINGS 

Elinor,  with  a  pretty  blush  and  great  confusion, 
made  her  a  low  curtsy  and  returned  the  homage. 
Then  they  settled  to  talking  of  lighter  things ;  but 
Natalie  went  out  of  the  room,  her  heart  exalted.  No 
body  in  the  household  spoke  in  this  fashion,  with  full 
belief  and  bold  assurance.  It  was  like  noble  music. 
She  felt  her  blood  respond  to  the  beat  and  rhythm, 
and  knew  she  was  equal  to  what  might  be  demanded 
of  her.  Such  heartening  was  a  gift  from  God. 

That  evening  Richard,  who  had  not  yet  spoken  to 
her  about  his  going,  drew  her  out  on  the  veranda 
when  Lorraine  had  run  upstairs  to  get  some  music. 

"  Come  and  walk  a  little,"  he  said,  and  she  re 
sponded  gently.  Of  late  she  had  fortified  herself, 
when  he  was  with  her,  by  a  gayer  manner  ;  but  Eli 
nor's  call  had  moved  her  to  a  great  sincerity. 

Elinor  was  one  of  the  people,  who  through  long 
self-communion,  have  learned  to  speak  simply  of  grave 
things.  The  life  of  the  soul  was  her  commonplace ; 
and  those  who  were  thrown  with  her  accepted  it  uncon 
sciously,  like  a  change  in  atmosphere. 

Dick  and  Natalie  walked  up  and  down  with  the 
according  step  that  had  grown  out  of  their  long  com 
panionship.  He  was  serious  and  a  little  apprehensive. 
Since  his  talk  with  Madam  Walsingham,  he  had  won 
dered  whether  Natalie  might  be  dissatisfied. 

"  Has  Lorraine  talked  to  you  about  our  tour  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Yes,  Dick.  You  've  both  talked  of  it  before  us 
all." 

"  I  know,  —  but  particularly  ?  " 

"  No,  there  was  nothing  in  particular  to  say." 

"  It 's  only  for  two  weeks,  Natalie."     He  believed 


A   NEW   NOTE  155 

that,  yet  as  he  said  it  the  words  sounded  like  pal 
tering,  and  he  was  impatient  with  them.  She  put 
aside  the  question  of  his  going,  not  with  any  palpa 
ble  effort,  but  so  that  he  felt  the  finality  of  her  with 
drawal. 

"  How  is  it  about  Fiske  and  Bailey  ?  "  she  asked. 
"  Will  they  seU  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  they  '11  sell!" 

"  Are  they  negotiating  with  anybody  ?  " 

"  A  New  York  man  has  been  on  to  talk  about  it." 

"  Don't  you  want  the  business,  Dick  ?  Don't  you 
still  think  of  it  ?  " 

His  mind  had  been  on  other  things  for  the  last 
week,  but  he  honestly  did  want  it. 

"  That 's  no  use,"  he  said.  "  It 's  as  far  from  me 
as  the  Pleiades." 

She  looked  up  at  them  in  their  mysterious  tangle, 
and  the  heavens  seemed  with  the  earth  in  league  to 
keep  him  near  her. 

"  Don't  you  think  "  —  she  hesitated,  "  Uncle  Gil 
bert  would  back  you  up  ?  " 

"  I  don't  honestly  think  he  can,  Natalie.  I  've 
chaffed  him  about  it,  and  he  's  chaffed  me,  but  I  be 
lieve  he  's  rather  water-logged.  There  are  things  he 
can't  realize  on  —  mortgages  and  things.  No,  he 
can't.  He 's  eternally  being  bled.  I  won't  bleed 
him." 

"  Is  n't  there  any  man  you  could  go  in  with  ?  A 
man  with  capital  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  any." 

"  You  are  so  clever,  Dick !  A  man  with  money 
ought  to  buy  your  brains.  There  's  cousin  Brice  — 
he  's  making  a  lot  out  of  that  new  book." 


156  THE   MANNERINGS 

Dick  laughed  with  a  reminiscent  tang  including  his 
past  and  present  knowledge  of  Brice  Mannering. 

"  By  Jove,  he  is  !  "  he  owned.  "  Old  Sally  would 
say,  4  It 's  more  by  hit  than  good  wit.' ' 

"  You  've  given  the  book  a  lift.  I  've  seen  that. 
Get  Brice  to  go  in  with  you  and  buy  out  Fiske  and 
Bailey." 

"  Bless  you,  child,  he  's  erected  a  publishing  house 
of  his  own  on  the  strength  of  '  Hearts  Inspired.'  It 's 
in  the  air  yet,  but  he  sees  it.  He  's  so  cocky  you 
can't  touch  him  with  a  ten-foot  pole.  No  partner 
ships  for  him !  And  he  has  n't  done  so  badly,  old 
Brice.  It 's  the  wisdom  of  fools  ;  but  he  's  got  a  pile 
of  money  out  of  4  Hearts  Inspired.' '' 

She  put  her  hand  on  his  arm  with  a  timid  inti 
macy. 

"  Dick,"  she  ventured,  "  Dick,  you  don't  know  any 
man  —  would  you  take  a  woman  ?  Would  you  take 
her  money?  You  would  manage  the  business.  It 
would  be  in  your  name.  She  'd  stand  aside  and  share 
the  profits." 

44  You  bet  I  would,"  said  Dick  impartially.  "  But 
there  's  no  such  woman.  Did  you  want  me,  Lorraine  ? 
Do  you  want  us  ?  " 

She  had  opened  the  door,  and  stood  there  under  the 
lamp,  bareheaded. 

44  No,"  she  said.  44 1  want  to  come,  too.  I  '11  get  a 
cloak." 

44  But  you  never  approved  of  my  going  into  publish 
ing  at  all,"  continued  Dick  to  Natalie,  with  his  sweet- 
natured  courtesy  returning  to  their  talk,  though  now, 
with  Lorraine  at  hand,  the  interest  had  gone  out  of  it. 
44  You  told  me  to  go  West  and  be  a  cowboy." 


A  NEW  NOTE  157 

"  But  you  would  n't  be  a  cowboy  !  " 

«  No." 

"  This  is  second  best.  If  you  won't  have  what  I 
want,  I  want  you  to  have  what  you  want." 

He  laughed. 

"  Well,  I  've  got  something  for  the  next  two  weeks 
—  pianist  for  Madame  Lorraine!  Wish  me  luck, 
Natalie.  Honestly,  I  'm  awfully  taken  with  the  job." 

"  I  do  wish  you  luck,"  she  answered  softly.    "  I  do 

wish  it." 

She  drew  her  hand  from  his  arm,  and  running^  in, 
gave  him  a  friendly  nod  from  the  doorway.  Lorraine, 
muffled  in  furs,  came  out,  and  she  and  Dick  walked 
for  an  hour,  laughing  like  children  over  nothing  but 
each  other's  company. 


XVI 

A    DUAL    SOLITUDE 

GILBERT  HORNE  walked  to  the  library  window 
and  looked  at  the  snowy  sky,  and  then  returned  to  his 
chair  and  tried  to  read.  But  the  day  with  its  mira 
cle  show  of  great  flakes  sifting  through  a  brightened 
air,  recalled  him  again  and  again  from  the  unwelcome 
page.  Ever  since  luck  had  excused  him  from  going 
West,  he  was  especially  delighted  with  his  house  and 
the  ways  of  life  in  it.  Now,  he  thought,  he  might  be 
allowed  to  sink  root  here  in  his  own  place,  and  be 
stirred  no  more.  And  yet  to-day,  dwelling  on  this  for 
the  thousandth  time,  he  had  longings  to  be  gone.  His 
feet  tingled  for  motion,  and  when  the  snow  stopped  like 
magic  and  white  clouds  rolled  up  from  a  brilliant  west, 
he  threw  down  the  book  and  summoned  Cassie,  whose 
low  singing  he  heard  from  the  hall.  She  was  rubbing 
old  mahogany  furniture  to  a  deeper  glow,  doing  it  as 
she  did  everything  there,  as  if  she  loved  the  house. 

"  Cassie  !  "  he  called,  "  Cassie  !  Run  and  put  me 
up  a  luncheon." 

She  came  to  the  door  and  stood  there  with  her 
strong  hands  on  either  side  of  the  casing,  her  eyes 
seeking  him  with  the  benignant  look  mothers  give  the 
beings  they  love  best  on  earth.  It  protected  while  it 
adored  a  creature  who  had  no  idea  of  ever  needing 
more  than  a  casual  service. 


A  DUAL  SOLITUDE  159 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  I  guess  I  can."  She  had  no 
prescribed  methods  of  speech,  and  yet  her  manner  was 
perfect.  She  was  not  so  much  a  servant  as  a  hand 
maiden,  a  woman  born  out  of  sound  stock  like  his  own, 
and  his  equal  in  everything  save  her  humility  toward 
him.  Home  had  risen,  and  stood  there  smiling  at 
her.  He  never  consciously  thought  of  Cassie,  more 
than  of  the  good  bread  old  Sally  made  for  his  dinner. 
She  was  a  wholesome,  sweet  thing,  and  she  was  his  in 
a  way  Sally  was  his,  and  the  fire  and  his  book. 

"  I  want  a  good  solid  luncheon  for  two,"  he  said. 

Her  eyes  brightened  with  a  sudden  pleasure.  Once 
he  had  taken  her  down  to  the  logging  camp  in  winter, 
and  they  had  built  a  fire  out  of  doors. 

He  ticked  off  the  items  on  his  palm  :  "  Bread  and 
butter,  thin.  You  might  make  it  sandwiches,  though. 
And  cake,  or  something  fancy.  Some  coffee  and  cups, 
—  two.  I  '11  fish  out  a  bottle  of  wine." 

"  You  want  the  bread  and  butter  thin  ? "  asked 
Cassie,  with  a  careful  courtesy. 

"Yes,  have  the  whole  thing  nice,  delicate,  you 
know,  tempting.  And  put  in  some  napkins." 

She  nodded  and  went  away,  the  lift  of  her  head 
subdued  into  a  little  droop.  Gilbert  ran  down  cellar 
whistling,  and  came  up  with  wine  and  apples.  When 
Cassie  brought  in  the  sandwiches  from  the  kitchen,  he 
helped  her  pack  them,  and  they  had  great  merriment, 
making  a  neat  hamper.  She  had  recovered  her  gentle 
spirits,  and  Gilbert  stopped  once  in  their  work  to 
say,— 

"  You  're  a  good  girl,  Cassie." 

He  thought  at  the  instant  rather  seriously  how 
she  and  old  Sally,  in  their  unobtrusive  service,  had 


160  THE  MANNERINGS 

smoothed  his  way  of  life.  They  iuited  him.  They 
were  intimates,  and  yet  not  near  enough  to  stir  that 
uneasy  consciousness  of  his,  ready  to  shrink  from  any 
hint  of  bonds.  Old  Sally,  standing  in  the  doorway, 
puffing  at  her  pipe  and  advising,  turned  at  that  and 
went  into  the  kitchen,  as  if  she  had  guessed  what  hurt 
her ;  but  Cassie  only  fitted  an  egg  into  its  place  with 
smooth  precision,  and  hardly  seemed  to  hear.  Gilbert 
left  the  last  touches  to  her,  and  while  old  John,  the 
other  servitor,  harnessed,  he  went  through  the  orchard 
path  to  the  Mannerings'.  Elinor  sat  there  at  the  win 
dow  as  if  she  expected  him ;  and  with  a  boyish  sense 
that  this  was  unlike  other  days  when  luncheons  were 
not  waiting,  he  took  off  his  hat  and  beckoned  her. 
She  pushed  up  the  window. 

"  I  '11  be  round  in  ten  minutes  with  the  horse,"  said 
Gilbert.  "  Take  a  lot  of  wraps.  We  shan't  be  home 
till  sundown." 

Before  her  answer,  he  was  striding  back  again,  to 
forestall  denial ;  but  there  was  no  more  chance  of 
that  than  there  had  been  years  ago  when  he  sum 
moned  her  to  play. 

Elinor  shut  the  window  and  ran  up  to  her  room. 
When  she  came  out,  her  face  carried  the  brightness 
of  hurry  and  anticipated  joy.  Katharine  was  on  the 
landing. 

"  Kate,  dear !  "  she  spoke  with  a  delightful  appeal 
and  a  haste  that  became  her  like  a  charm.  "  Kate, 
he 's  going  to  take  me  sleighing.  We  shan't  be  home 
till  night.' 

"He?" 

"  Gilbert  Home  !    Oh,  kiss  me,  Kate  !    Good-by." 

She  lifted  a  face  all  trembling  from  pure  pleasure, 


A  DUAL  SOLITUDE  161 

and  Katharine  kissed  her  softly,  with  a  little  wonder. 
She  had  not  seen  Elinor  so  moved  by  any  happy 
fortune,  and  quite  impressed  by  the  magnitude  of  the 
event,  she  went  clown  with  her,  when  Home  came,  and 
tucked  her  into  the  sleigh. 

The  day  was  dazzling  now.  Very  little  snow  had 
fallen,  but  it  lay  in  delusive  softness,  as  if  it  covered 
an  uncounted  depth,  and  shone  with  the  faceted  bril 
liancy  of  new  crystals.  Lady,  Gilbert's  dearest  horse, 
was  keen  of  nostril  and  of  an  unquenched  spirit. 
For  a  mile  or  more  she  spent  her  breath  wildly,  and 
then,  calming  to  the  road,  fell  into  a  steady  pace.  Gil 
bert  turned  to  look  at  Elinor.  She  was  pink  with 
pleasure,  and  he  noted  the  pure  curve  of  her  cheek, 
and  the  sweep  of  her  lashes  outlined  there.  She 
reminded  him  subtly  of  Cassie.  No  two  women  could 
have  been  more  unlike,  yet  something  at  that  moment 
suggested  a  kindred  mind. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  here  we  are." 

"  Where  are  we  going  ?  " 

"  Do  you  care  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least." 

"  I  thought  not.  But  it 's  miles  and  miles.  You 
need  n't  talk.  You  can  forget  me,  if  you  like." 

"  We  '11  forget  each  other." 

They  had  slipped  smoothly  down  the  road  to  the  vil 
lage,  and  traversing  that  valley,  crawled  up  another 
hill.  This  brought  them  to  the  upper  tableland,  Edg- 
combe's  peer  in  height,  where  a  long  road,  lined  with 
maples,  ran  away  to  the  east.  The  horse  had  settled 
into  the  smooth  trot  that  lasts  all  day,  and  the  bells 
and  hoof-beats  in  according  measure  lulled  Elinor  to 
reverie. 


162  THE  MANNERINGS 

"  If  it  would  never  end !  "  she  kept  saying  to  her 
self.  "  Oh,  it  must  never  end !  " 

They  had  gone,  as  he  promised,  miles  and  miles, 
when  they  dipped  into  deep  woods  where  the  road  lay 
in  thick  green  shadow.  Home  drew  an  impetuous 
breath. 

"  Did  you  forget  me  ?  "  he  asked,  against  his  wilL 

The  day  itself  made  a  temptation :  that  and  their 
companionship  in  solitude.  It  challenged  truth.  She 
was  on  the  point  of  answering  with  an  absolute  can 
dor,  "  I  never  forget  you,"  but  something  recalled  her, 
an  echo  of  his  voice  that  other  day  as  he  said  he  was 
content.  If  he  were  content,  he  had  no  need  of  her, 
and  she  refused  this  drop  from  the  overbrimming  cup 
filled  from  sunlight  and  winter  air. 

"  Smell  the  firs,"  she  said.  "  I  Ve  driven  through 
here  in  summer  when  they  were  like  incense." 

"  Yes,  in  summer  time.  You  can't  smell  them 
through  this  frost." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  can !  So  can  you.  I  used  to  think, 
when  I  read  your  books  in  Italy,  that  you  could  hear 
the  grass  grow  and  the  roots  stirring  under  the  ice." 

"  Strange  !  you  had  my  books  in  Italy  !  Why  did 
you?" 

"  I  told  you.  I  got  everything  I  could  to  remind 
me  of  home." 

"  Were  you  contented  there  ?  " 

44  Not  for  a  minute." 

"  Why  did  you  stay  ?  " 

"  My  father  had  to.  It  was  life  and  death  with  him, 
he  thought." 

"  He  thought !    I  wonder  if  it  was  !  " 

"  I  am  not  sure.     But  we  stayed." 


A  DUAL  SOLITUDE  163 

"  It  does  n't  seem  right  to  me,"  said  Home.  "  It 
does  n't  seem  right.  The  older  life  has  no  right  to 
overlap  the  younger  so." 

"  Yet  you  let  it." 

"  Oh,  I !  That 's  not  important.  It  was  different 
with  you.  You  should  have  been  saved." 

"  I  did  n't  ask  to  be  saved,"  returned  Elinor  quietly. 
Her  mind  added,  "  And  there  was  no  one  to  save 
me." 

"  I  wonder  who  could  have  done  it,"  said  Gilbert 
Home  musingly.  "  Was  there  any  one  ?  " 

There  seemed  to  be  no  reason  why  he  should  not 
ask  her  anything  out  there  in  the  snowy  day.  He  felt 
a  great  desire  to  be  near  her,  to  learn  her  past,  and  lay 
some  finger  on  her  present  life.  But  she  evidently 
found  no  argument  for  answering,  and  he  spoke  again 
in  the  same  musing  tone. 

"  And  all  that  time  I  thought  of  you  as  happy !  " 

"  I  was  happ3^,  after  the  first." 

"  What  was  it  at  the  first?  " 

"  I  was  doing  what  we  all  have  to  do.  I  was  learn 
ing  to  submit." 

"  Submit !  to  what  ?  "  cried  Home  impatiently. 
"  Why  must  you  have  submitted  ?  Why  could  n't 
you  have  the  things  women  yearn  for  ?  " 

She  smiled  into  the  face  of  the  lovely  day. 

"  Why  not  ? "  she  asked,  and  then  added  with  a 
commonplace  humility,  "  It  was  not  possible,  or  I 
should  have  had  them." 

"  You  believe  in  higher  powers !  " 

"  You  mean  in  God  ?  Yes.  It  is  very  simple.  We 
are  His  children.  He  decides." 

"  Submit !     I  have  submitted  until  I  end  by  not 


164  THE  MANNERINGS 

wanting  anything,"  said  Home  violently.  "It's  a 
hideous  retribution." 

"  Did  you  know  Kate  means  to  leave  her  hus 
band  ?"  * 

"What!" 

"  She  said  I  might  tell  you.  She  is  going  to  leave 
Brice." 

"  What  for  ?  Not  that  wretched  business  of  the 
book?  " 

"  That  hurried  it.  But  she  has  been  planning  it 
for  years.  Now  the  time  has  come." 

"  I  'm  sorry,  sorry,"  said  Home  slowly.  "  I  wish 
she  could  have  fought  it  out." 

"Why?" 

"  I  don't  know  why ;  but  I  've  a  good  deal  of  con 
fidence  in  things  that  are  lived  out  on  the  spot.  Man- 
nering  's  a  foolish  fellow,  but  he  's  not  so  farcical  as 
she  thinks  him." 

"  Is  n't  the  book  enough  to  part  them  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  It 's  an  accomplished  fact.  She 
can't  help  it.  He  's  done  a  faithless  thing  based  on  a 
foolish  thing  she  did  before  him.  She  should  n't  found 
a  tragedy  on  it.  You  see  I  'm  sorry  for  Mannering.  I 
shall  be,  if  she  leaves  him." 

"  Do  you  expect  him  to  suffer  ?  " 

"  Not  what  she  calls  suffering,  not  what  you  call 
suffering.  He  's  pitched  too  low.  But  that  kind  of 
nature  has  a  discomfort  you  vivid  creatures  don't  give 
us  credit  for.  I  gave  up  something  once.  I  know." 

She  glanced  at  him  quickly.  His  face  was  a  little 
sad,  a  little  whimsical,  as  if  even  that  old  pain  he 
would  not  take  quite  seriously. 

"  I  never  meant  to  tell  you,"  he  went  on  presently. 


A  DUAL  SOLITUDE  165 

« It 's  unfair,  too,  now  I  've  got  you  here  where  you 
can't  get  away.  But  somehow  the  devil  is  in  it,  and 
I  want  to.  You  see,  years  ago  I  gave  up  you." 

The  world  held  still,  thought  Elinor,  as  she  did, 
listening. 

"  I  cared  about  you,"  he  said.  "  When  you  went 
away  to  Italy,  I  gave  you  up.  I  mooned  over  you  for 
years.  I  fancy  I  'm  rather  different  in  some  ways 
because  of  that.  But  at  the  time  it  was  remarkably 
difficult." 

As  she  was  silent  still,  he  looked  at  her. 

"  Gods  of  war  !  "  he  cried,  "  you  're  laughing.  You 
wretched  woman,  you  unfeeling  jade !  What  makes 
you  laugh  ?  " 

The  tension  of  years  had  broken  in  her.  Dimples 
came  in  her  face  and  made  it  childlike,  and  two  tears 
wet  her  cheeks.  Gilbert  laughed  a  little  unwillingly, 
through  extreme  surprise. 

"  You  hurt  my  vanity,"  he  said.  "  I  tell  you  I 
liked  you,  and  you  laugh  !  " 

With  Elinor,  used  to  her  meditative  life  alone,  all 
the  small  things  and  the  great  in  life  meant  God. 
Now  God  had  given  something  back  to  her,  and  so 
simply,  so  humanly,  that  it  transcended  anything  she 
ever  asked.  The  doubt  of  years  was  over.  The  man 
had  cared  about  her.  That  he  cared  no  longer  seemed 
a  little  thing.  He  was  here,  saner  than  she,  because 
he  had  no  visions,  and  he  had  loved  her.  The  beau 
tiful  fantasy  of  her  old  dream  resolved  itself  into  a 
sweet  new  knowledge.  It  promised  nothing  for  the 
future,  and  she  desired  nothing.  Only  the  dream  had 
once  been  true,  and  it  made  the  fabric  of  her  life 
complete. 


166  THE   MANNERINGS 

"  Faster!  "  she  urged.  "We  go  into  the  gully  here, 
I  remember." 

He  gave  the  word  and  Lady  flew;  but  only  for 
half  a  mile,  because  he  would  not  have  her  heated  for 
her  stall.  A  turn  in  the  road,  and  a  little  low  house. 

"  You  don't  remember?"  asked  Gilbert  hopefully. 

u  Oh,  yes,  I  do  !  The  old  clock  man  used  to  live 
here.  You  gave  him  the  use  of  the  house." 

"  He  lives  here  still.  There  's  no  smoke.  He  's  off 
on  a  tramp.  Let  me  get  Lady  under  cover,  and  then 
I  '11  make  a  fire." 

Elinor  pushed  her  way  into  the  house  and  found 
the  kitchen  empty.  It  was  a  south  room  full  of  sun, 
curiously  bare,  and  very  clean.  There  was  a  long 
work-bench  by  the  window,  covered  with  tools.  There 
were  clocks  everywhere,  but  they  were  still.  She 
opened  the  wood-box  and  found  kindling,  and  when 
Gilbert  came  in  the  fire  was  crackling.  .He  put  down 
the  hamper  and  a  great  bundle  with  it. 

u  Books,"  he  said,  answering  her  glance.  "  Novels. 
He  asks  me  if  they  are  true,  and  I  tell  him  yes." 

The  little  room  was  presently  humming  with  heat. 
Gilbert  threw  off  his  coat,  and  began  opening  the 
hamper. 

"  Ah,  let  me  !  "  she  begged. 

"  You  ?    You  're  not  a  housewife." 

She  drew  it  to  her  side  of  the  table,  and  went  to 
work. 

"  Aha !  "  she  cried  in  triumph.  "  You  were  doing 
it  all  backwards.  Where  was  your  tablecloth  ?  " 

She  had  espied  it  with  the  napkins  fitted  cleverly 
in  by  the  other  woman's  faithful  fingers.  Gilbert 
stood  aside  and  watched  her  while  she  spread  the  cloth 


A  DUAL  SOLITUDE  167 

and  set  out  the  sandwiches  and  wine.  He  found  her  a 
little  clean  saucepan,  and  she  heated  the  coffee ;  when 
it  was  steaming,  they  sat  down  to  eat.  He  looked  at 
her  across  the  table  and  raised  his  glass. 

"  To  your  beautiful  eyes !  "  said  the  look,  and  she 
read  it  as  she  did  all  his  involuntary  messages. 

There  was  a  curious  intimacy  in  their  seclusion  and 
their  breaking  bread  together.  When  she  rehearsed 
it  afterwards,  in  the  fashion  women  have  of  taking  out 
their  memories  to  fondle,  Elinor  would  tremble  a  little 
over  the  sacramental  touch  of  it ;  but  now  it  was 
merely  commonplace,  in  some  sweet,  human  way.  The 
little  house  seemed  to  enfold  as  it  did  inclose  them. 
There  was  slight  space  for  even  the  thought  of  others 
in  that  dual  solitude.  Yet  they  spoke  freely  of  the 
absent,  and  with  the  candor  of  a  perfect  trust ;  only 
it  was  like  one  mind  communing  with  itself,  and  find 
ing  the  rest  of  the  world,  though  dear  and  friendly, 
very  far  removed.  When  they  had  eaten,  they  sat 
down  on  either  side  of  the  little  impetuous  stove,  and 
"kept  on  talking  about  everything,  about  nothing. 
They  were  two  silent  people  who  by  nature  broke 
speech  in  each  other's  company.  At  three,  the  sun 
was  out  of  the  side  window,  and  Gilbert  looked  at  her. 

"Is  it  over  ?  "  she  asked,  smiling  back. 

"  It  's  over.     I  '11  put  Lady  in." 

While  he  was  gone,  she  set  the  chairs  straight,  tidied 
the  room,  and  shut  the  stove.  A\  hen  he  brought  the 
horse  round,  she  was  waiting  for  him,  and  her  face 
dimpled. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Gilbert. 

"  Go  and  listen  at  the  door.  Listen  hard.  You  '11 
hear." 


168  THE  MANNERINGS 

He  opened  the  door,  and  set  his  ear  to  the  crack. 
"  Clocks  !  "  he  reported.     "  How  many  ?  " 
"Eight."     She  had  wound  them,   and   they  were 
ticking  in  a  droll  and  clamorous  gratitude.     It  made 
the  little  house  less  lonesome  to  be  left.    Small  under 
standing  voices  seemed  to  be  calling  them  to  come 
back  and  go  on  talking. 


XVII 

BRICE    AND   NATALIE 

THERE  was  something  romantic  in  Natalie's  longing 
to  send  Dick  into  the  modern  West,  to  get  the  taste 
and  smell  of  life.  That  country,  as  she  saw  it,  was  a 
great  creature  holding  out  warm  arms.  The  limitless 
horizon,  the  wide  sky,  gripped  her  imagination,  and 
she  saw  him  toughening  in  wind  and  sun,  and  grow 
ing  at  one  bound  into  the  man  she  meant  him  to  be. 
Gilbert  Home  had  favored  the  scheme  because  it  fell 
in  with  his  own  certainty  of  the  medicine  needed,  not 
so  many  years  ago,  to  correct  his  own  faults  of  pur 
pose.  Dick  and  he  were  not  so  unlike,  though  he 
had,  as  he  had  said,  the  slower  nature.  At  heart, 
they  both  lacked  some  comprehension  of  life  in  the 
present,  some  ability  to  cope  briskly  with  the  issues 
of  the  hour.  Gilbert  lagged  on  certain  roads.  He 
did  not  pursue  false  gods,  but  he  sought  out  no  gods 
at  all  until  they  had  been  with  him  for  a  long  time, 
thundering  from  the  brake.  Then  he  was  too  em 
barrassed  for  worship.  To  neither  of  them  did  the 
apparent  prizes  of  life  look  very  desirable  at  the  time 
for  snatching  at  them.  Only  when  his  day  was  over 
did  Gilbert  gaze  wistfully  at  other  men  who  had  found 
them  worth  while,  and  wish  he  had  struggled  like  the 
rest.  Yet,  as  he  had  told  Elinor,  he  was  not  un 
happy.  A  tree  was  more  to  him  than  a  blustering 


170  THE  MANNERINGS 

opponent  in  debate.  He  sometimes  inquired  curiously 
into  the  future  and  saw  possibility  of  great  happi 
ness  of  a  tranquil  kind,  in  growing  old,  in  feeling  his 
pulses  beat  more  and  more  slowly,  and  his  blood  run 
cooler  with  the  autumn  sun ;  but  at  the  same  time 
there  lurked  within  him  a  suspicion  that  it  would 
have  been  better  to  play  the  game,  to  taste  life  as 
other  men  had  agreed  to  make  it.  Dick,  he  said,  fol 
lowing  Natalie's  unspoken  wish,  should  taste  it  for 
him.  He  had  an  entire  comprehension  of  Natalie's 
mind  toward  Dick.  He  was  sensitive  to  life,  and  the 
men  and  women  in  it  were  wonderfully  clear  to  him  ; 
only  when  they  touched  his  own  being,  their  motives 
blurred  and  faded.  He  could  respond  intelligently  to 
moods  without  being  deeply  affected  by  them,  though 
he  always  felt  safer,  more  competent  with  the  natu 
ral  world  than  the  congregation  of  men.  As  his  own 
character  seemed  to  him  a  complete  puzzle,  so  human 
creatures,  when  they  took  him  into  their  circle,  ceased 
to  be  a  play.  Only  in  relation  to  one  another  did 
they  move  consistently,  and  rid  him  of  that  perplexity 
which  beset  his  lonely  path. 

But  he  understood  Natalie  very  well,  and  longed  to 
make  her  happy  in  the  measure  of  her  past  dissatisfac 
tion.  He  understood  Dick,  and  required  him  to  put 
away  childish  things ;  and,  for  a  time,  it  seemed  as  if 
the  West  were  to  be  the  salvation  of  them  all.  But 
Dick  had  not  considered  it  for  a  moment ;  and  now, 
at  thirty,  with  apparently  infinite  riches  of  time  before 
him,  he  was  henchman  to  Lorraine. 

One  thing  they  knew  :  Dick  had  wanted  to  buy 
out  Fiske  and  Bailey,  and  now  Natalie  wanted  it  as 
much  as  he.  Give  him  a  big  desire,  she  thought,  and 


BRICE   AND    NATALIE  171 

it  might  steady  him.  There  had  always  been  a  re 
sentful  shame  in  her  at  dabbling  with  his  future  as 
that  of  a  man  not  fit  to  map  it  out  himself.  Desiring 
nothing  so  much  as  his  good  fortune,  she  would  yet 
have  had  it  wrested  by  his  own  hand  from  the  indif 
ferent  gods.  Every  day  of  her  life  she  had  wished  to 
give  him  her  own  little  money ;  still  that  could  hardly 
be  done  without  offering  him  herself,  and  there  she 
shrank.  He  did  not  want  her.  But  now  all  lesser 
pride  was  drowned  in  the  one  wish  to  save  him. 

It  was  an  evening  almost  as  light  outside  as  in,  with 
the  moon  on  the  snow  and  a  clear  cold  from  the 
north.  There  had  been  wind  for  three  days,  and  now 
it  had  died,  leaving  peace  behind  it.  Natalie,  her 
nerves  on  edge  from  that  invisible  pursuer,  had  suf 
fered  uneasy  torment ;  but  the  tension  slackened  and 
she  lived  again.  She  came  downstairs  and  found  the 
others,  under  the  same  reaction,  exhilarated  according 
to  their  kind.  Elinor  and  Katharine  were  talking 
together  in  a  window  seat,  and  Madam  Walsingham 
sat  by  the  fire,  her  little  feet  tucked  close  to  the  blaze. 
She  was  reading,  and  Dick  went  over  some  music  for 
Lorraine,  with  rigid  insistence  on  beat  and  rhythm. 
Mannering  was  at  home  for  the  first  time  in  ten 
days,  and  he  sat  in  the  library  in  his  old  chair,  his 
father  across  the  hearth,  and  read  the  paper  with  a 
contented  certainty  that  now  at  last  Katharine  had 
accepted  the  book  as  a  concession  to  finance.  Natalie 
stood  in  the  doorway. 

"  Cousin  Brice,  may  I  talk  to  you  ?  "  she  asked. 

Mannering  put  down  his  paper. 

"  Of  course,  Natalie,  of  course,"  he  said  cordially. 
"  Come  in  ;  take  this  chair." 


172  THE  MANNERINGS 

He  belonged  to  that  school  of  gallantry  which  pre 
scribes  offering  one's  own  chair  to  a  lady,  as  if  no  seat 
will  serve  without  a  personal  sacrifice.  But  Natalie 
brought  forward  a  little  ottoman  and  placed  it  in  the 
open  fire  space  between  the  two. 

"  My  son  has  not  been  home  for  nine  nights," 
said  the  captain,  in  senile  fractiousness.  He  had 
missed  Brice  extraordinarily.  All  the  habits  of  his 
life  were  broken  in  upon  when  the  one  culmination  of 
the  day,  his  son's  return,  had  been  denied  him.  He 
had  aged  even  in  a  week,  and  Brice,  seeing  it,  tried 
pathetically  to  coax  him  back  into  his  lost  serenity. 

"  Business,  father,  business,"  he  chanted.  "  I  'm 
running  a  successful  book." 

"  Not  for  nine  nights ! "  repeated  the  old  man. 
"  Nine  nights  !  "  His  volume  of  Homer  lay  on  the 
table  before  him.  It  had  been  closed  all  day.  When 
Brice  was  not  to  come,  he  wandered  about  the  house, 
and  felt  his  own  forlonmess. 

".Business  !  "  said  Brice  again  briskly.  "  You  and 
I  are  going  abroad  on  that  book,  father.  We  're 
going  to  Greece." 

He  nodded  at  Natalie  as  if  to  include  her  in  this 
assuaging  policy ;  but  she  had  no  eyes  for  him  save  as 
he  touched  her  purpose. 

"  Cousin  Brice,"  she  began,  "  I  want  some  money." 

Brice  stiffened,  as  if  she  coaxed  it  from  his  pocket. 
That  was  his  custom,  a  vindication  of  his  own  im 
portance.  Natalie  had  never  asked  him  for  money 
without  receiving  it  as  a  gift  accompanied  by  the  im 
plication  that  it  was  a  difficult  piece  of  business  to 
achieve.  But  he  spoke  jocosely. 

"  Quarter  day  is  a  good  ways  off." 


BRICE   AND   NATALIE  173 

"  I  know  it  is.  But  I  don't  want  the  usual  pay 
ment  —  I  want  it  all.  You  know  the  will  specified 
that  you  were  to  make  over  the  whole  thing  to  me 
when  I  was  twenty-one.  I  didn't  want  it  then.  I 
want  it  now." 

Mannering's  pallor  was  intense  ;  it  held  a  shade  of 
green.  He  trifled  with  his  glasses,  and  then  tapped 
his  chin  with  them  and  looked  judicial.  He  spoke 
gravely,  with  an  importance  calculated  to  delay. 

"  I  hope  you  're  not  dissatisfied  ?  " 

"  Dissatisfied  !     No  !     I  only  want  the  money." 

"  You  want  the  money !  "  repeated  Mannering. 

"  I  want  the  money.  Is  there  any  reason  why  I 
should  n't  have  it  ?  " 

"  No  reason  in  the  world."  But  he  looked  uncom 
fortable,  as  one  who,  at  a  time  when  he  can  ill  afford 
it,  has  received  a  blow.  Then  his  face  cleared,  and 
he  took  up  his  newspaper  as  if  to  close  the  topic. 
"  I  will  attend  to  it  at  once." 

"  You  know  I  have  a  list  of  the  investments,"  said 
Natalie.  "I  don't  believe  it  will  cause  you  much 
trouble.  I  want  the  whole  thing  cleared  up  and  the 
money  made  over  to  me,  so  I  can  use  it,  if  I  like." 

Mannering  put  on  his  glasses  ;  but  he  took  them  off 
to  question  her. 

"  Are  you  intending  to  leave  us  ?  "  he  asked,  and 
Natalie  understood  he  meant  her  marriage. 

"  No,"  she  answered  quietly.  "  I  shall  stay  here  as 
long  as  you  like." 

"  Delighted,"  said  Brice  cordially,  returning  to  his 
paper ;  and  the  old  captain  smiled  at  her  and  added,  — 

"  You  stay.  We  must  all  stay.  I  don't  like  changes. 
My  son  was  away  nine  nights." 


174  THE  MANNERINGS 

She  went  into  the  next  room,  where  Dick  and  Lor 
raine  were  standing  together  near  the  fire.  Madam 
Walsingham  had  laid  her  book  in  her  lap,  and  was 
smoothing  the  lace  over  her  wrists.  She  was  saying 
with  an  unmoved  calmness,  — 

"  No,  Lorraine,  I  shan't  go  to-morrow,  nor  the  next 
day,  nor  the  day  after." 

Katharine  hurried  forward  from  her  seat  in  the 
window. 

"  Don't  think  of  going,  Madam  Walsingham,"  she 
urged,  with  an  honest  warmth  of  courtesy.  "  I  wish 
we  might  keep  you  as  long  as  —  any  of  us  are  here." 
The  subterfuge  seemed  a  natural  expression,  but  she 
had  thought,  at  the  moment  of  speaking,  how  her  own 
desire  counseled  her  to  be  out  of  the  house  before  the 
spring. 

"  But,  grannie  !  grannie  !  "  cried  Lorraine,  her  un 
failing  good-nature  covering  her  unfailing  will,  "  our 
plans  are  all  made.  Dick  has  his  leave  of  absence. 
The  winter  will  be  over.  Nobody  wants  dancing  in 
Lent.  Grannie  !  grannie  !  " 

Madam  Walsingham  took  up  her  book  conclusively. 

"  Thank  you,  Madam  Katharine,"  she  said.  "  I 
will  extend  my  visit  a  little  longer.  Lorraine,  my 
dear  child,  I  really  have  got  to  live  for  a  few  more 
days  in  a  civilized  house  ;  otherwise  I  shall  come  un- 
glued  before  the  winter  is  over.  I  don't  propose  to 
die  for  a  year  and  a  half.  My  horoscope  gives  me 
that.  I  am  turned  out  to  grass  here.  I  intend  stay 
ing  until  my  coat  gets  a  little  smoother  and  my  hoofs 
are  rested.  Thank  you,  Madam  Katharine." 

"  But,  grannie  !  grannie !  Dick  and  I  have  got  to 
go.  We  can't  go  alone  !  "  Madam  Walsingham  had 


BRICE   AND   NATALIE  175 

returned  to  her  book,  and  Katharine  to  her  talk  in 
the  window.  Lorraine  made  a  little  face,  as  she  did 
sometimes  when  fate  crossed  her  briefly.  Then  she 
laughed. 

"  Bless  me,  Dick,"  said  she,  "  you  '11  have  to  marry 


XVIII 

A   PAIR    OF    GLOVES 

GILBERT  HORNE  had  fallen  in  with  one  of  Lor 
raine's  fancies.  When  she  told  him  the  great  room 
in  his  third  story  would  make  a  dancing  hall,  he 
invited  her  to  try  it.  He  had  been  looking  at  Nata 
lie's  face,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  whatever  deferred 
Lorraine's  going,  with  Dick  at  her  heels,  might  be 
worth  some  trouble. 

Old  Sally  and  John  were  commissioned  to  put  the 
room  in  order.  It  ran  the  length  of  the  house,  divided 
midway  by  a  fireplace  where  a  log  had  space  to  burn. 
There  were  divans  in  the  end  windows,  and  along 
the  sides  were  cabinets  filled  with  specimens  from 
the  days  when  Gilbert  had  meant  to  be  a  natural 
ist.  Now  they  were  curtained  in  deep  red.  Late  one 
afternoon,  on  the  day  after  his  drive  with  Elinor, 
the  place  was  ready,  and  he  went  up  and  laid  the  fire 
himself.  The  logs  were  piled  beside  the  hearth,  and 
the  room,  with  the  brown  rafters  above  and  the  low 
light  from  the  west  creeping  in  at  the  window,  looked 
ancient  and  most  inviting.  Here  Gilbert  had  used  to 
walk  with  his  mother,  on  winter  days  when  she  felt  a 
terror  of  the  outdoor  world,  and  it  was  for  her  that 
he  had  had  the  partitions  torn  away,  and  the  spot 
made  habitable.  He  stood  before  the  fireplace  now 
and  looked  up  and  down  its  length,  his  mind  traveling 


A  PAIR   OF  GLOVES  177 

back  as  he  seldom  let  it  wander,  because  the  path  led 
through  a  dreary  plain.  He  could  see  himself  and 
his  mother,  like  two  creatures  quite  detached  from 
him,  as  they  walked  back  and  forth,  she  always  lean 
ing  on  him,  always  rehearsing  the  things  she  could 
not  bear,  and  he  answering  with  reassurances  long 
since  grown  commonplace.  He  turned  from  the  pic 
ture  with  a  strong  distaste.  He  had  not  liked  his  life 
as  destiny  and  he  had  made  it ;  but  it  was  a  part  of 
his  nature  to  endure.  Presently  he  went  downstairs 
and  Cassie  met  him  in  the  dining-room  where  she  had 
just  set  out  his  tea.' 

"  What  is  it,  Cassie  ?  "  he  asked  at  once.  "  What 's 
happened?" 

That  look  of  high  excitement  had  used  to  be  on  her 
face  when  his  mother,  in  hysteria,  tried  him  too  far, 
and  Cassie,  though  she  had  to  be  silent,  was  his  cham 
pion.  But  he  never  connected  it  with  any  emotion 
touching  him  :  only  with  something  stirring  in  the 
air. 

"  Nothing,"  answered  Cassie. 

He  sat  down  and  began  breaking  his  toast  thought 
fully,  caring  little  about  it,  and  the  girl  stood  still. 
In  a  moment  she  laid  beside  him  something  she  had 
held  in  the  hand  hanging  at  her  side. 

«  What  is  it?  "  asked  Gilbert. 

"  It  is  a  pair  of  gloves.  I  went  out  to  the  sleigh 
to  bring  in  the  hamper  and  I  found  them." 

"  Oh  !  "  He  had  awakened.  They  were  Elinor's 
gloves,  fallen  from  the  inner  pocket  of  her  cloak. 
Gilbert  looked  at  them  casually,  as  they  lay  there 
on  the  cloth  beside  him.  "  Yes,"  he  said,  "  much 
obliged." 


178  THE  MANNERINGS 

Cassie  drew  a  deep  breath  and  went  away  into  the 
kitchen.  She  knew  he  would  touch  them,  but  she 
hardly  felt  able  to  see  him  do  it.  Gilbert  finished  his 
supper,  and  then  got  up  and  stretched*  himself  with 
the  frank  enjoyment  of  the  man  used  to  being  much 
alone.  Then  he  did  look  at  the  gloves  thoughtfully  ; 
he  took  them  up  and  carried  them  into  the  library, 
where  his  lamp  was  burning.  And  when  he  was  in 
his  chair,  book  in  hand,  the  gloves  lay  on  the  table 
beside  him.  Cassie  cleared  away  the  dishes  with  a 
mechanical  interest,  but  her  glance  kept  note  of  him  ; 
and  when  she  had  carried  the  fast  thing  into  the 
kitchen,  she  returned,  closed  the  door  behind  her  and 
stood  there  in  the  shadow  watching  him.  And  the 
event  followed,  as  if  her  spirit  summoned  his  to  tell 
its  story ;  for  Gilbert  laid  down  his  book  and  took 
up  the  gloves.  He  unrolled  them  with  a  gentle  care, 
as  if  they  might  be  hurt.  Then  he  smoothed  out  their 
delicate  length,  and  put  them  to  his  face.  Cassie  saw 
him  lay  his  cheek  upon  them.  She  opened  the  door 
stealthily  and  went  back  into  the  kitchen.  Old  Sally, 
washing  dishes  at  the  sink,  saw  her  white  face  with 
the  burning  eyes,  and  knew  something  was  undone. 
But  they  finished  the  work  in  silence,  and  then  sat 
down  on  either  side  of  the  stove.  Sally  smoked  her 
short  pipe  and  looked  at  the  fire,  where  the  draught 
in  front  showed  a  gleam  of  coals. 

"  Plague  take  this  fire  !  "  she  said  at  last.  "  I  'd 
like  a  good  hearth  where  I  could  see  the  embers." 

Cassie  did  not  answer.  She  leaned  back  wearily 
in  the  great  chair.  Her  arms  hung  at  her  side,  and 
the  strong  hands  were  limp.  Yet  she  was  not  tired. 
This  was  an  abandonment,  but  not  that  of  weakness. 


A   PAIR   OF  GLOVES  179 

"  You  could  set  in  the  other  room,"  said  Sally  art 
fully.  "  He  said  so.  He  'd  let  us  both  set  there  ; 
on'y  I  '11  be  whipped  if  I  '11  go  where  folks  can  be 
runniii'  in." 

"  No,"  said  Cassie.  "  No.  I  shan't  sit  there." 
Suddenly  she  awoke  to  fierce  avowal :  "  I  'm  going 
away." 

"  Where  ye  goin'  ?  "  asked  old  Sally,  puffing  stead 
ily  at  her  pipe. 

"  I  don't  know.  Maybe  down  to  your  old  house  at 
the  Ridge." 

"  I  '11  go  with  ye." 

"  No !  no  !     You  stay  here." 

Sally  answered  her  thought. 

"  Yes,  he  could,  too.  He  could  git  along  without  me. 
He  'd  think  he  could  n't ;  but  he  could.  They  never 
want  to  be  weaned  ;  but  you  can  do  it,  an'  arter  it 's 
done,  they  're  all  the  better  for  't." 

She  rose,  knocked  the  ashes  from  her  pipe  and  laid 
it  on  the  shelf.  Cassie  was  thinking  her  own  thoughts. 
Her  young  look  had  slipped  away,  and  left  her  in  a 
grave  maturity.  She  betrayed  the  woman  she  would 
be  twenty  years  from  now  unless  life  fondled  her  :  a 
sad-faced  creature,  yet  all  sweetness,  as  one  who  had 
accepted  a  part  she  did  not  comprehend.  Old  Sally 
took  a  candle,  and  limped  out  of  the  room.  Presently 
she  came  back.  She  blew  out  the  light,  and  pinched 
the  wick  with  capable,  worn  fingers ;  then  she  came 
up  to  Cassie  and  held  out  something.  It  was  a  little 
black  bottle,  and  Cassie  looked  at  it  without  much 
interest. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  asked. 

There  was    cause   for  secrecy,  and  yet  old    Sally 


180  THE   MANNERINGS 

scorned  to  whisper.  The  facts  of  life,  even  those 
least  understood,  were  all  acceptable  to  her,  and  she 
dealt  in  charms  when  there  was  need,  as  she  would 
make  a  loaf  of  bread. 

"  It 's  a  philter,"  said  she.     "  It 's  a  love  philter." 

Cassie  reddened  all  over  her  face.  She  rose  in  her 
chair  and  took  the  thing.  Old  Sally  saw  that,  in 
some  access  of  young  passion,  she  was  about  to  throw 
it  on  the  hearth,  and  she  put  one  sinewy  hand  on  Cas- 
sie's  wrist. 

"  Don't  ye,"  said  she,  "  don't  ye  !  It  '11  make  a 
smell." 

The  girl  shook  off  her  hand ;  but  now  she  held  the 
bottle  closer  in  her  palm.  Her  grasp  concealed  it 
there.  Sally  turned  away,  and  lighted  her  candle 
again. 

"  Great-aunt  Lois  gi'n  it  to  me,"  she  said.  "  I 
never  used  it.  Lord !  I  never  wanted  their  love. 
What 's  love  ?  Ratsbean  !  One  's  as  bad  as  t'  other. 
But  I  'm  gittin'  old.  I  thought  I  'd  pass  it  along  to 
you.  When  you  git  old,  you  hand  it  along  to  the  next 
one.  .Ten  drops  in  their  tea,  three  nights  runnin'." 

She  lighted  the  candle  and  poked  the  wick  this  way 
and  that  with  a  finger  too  tough  to  feel  the  flame ; 
then,  with  it  burning  valiantly,  she  went  up  the 
kitchen  stairs  to  bed. 

Cassie  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  held  the  thing 
in  the  hand  hanging  at  her  side.  It  seemed  to  burn 
her,  but  her  grasp  grew  firm.  At  ten,  Gilbert,  sleepy 
from  the  winter  wind  in  his  face  nearly  all  day  long, 
walked  about  shutting  up  the  house.  He  went  into 
the  kitchen  last,  and  finding  it  dark  tried  the  doors, 
and  then  shot  the  bolts  upon  them.  The  great  chair 


A   PAIR   OF  GLOVES  181 

was  black  beside  the  hearth,  and  the  room  had 
rapidly  grown  cold.  He  had  that  sense  of  a  presence 
which  comes  upon  us  sometimes  in  the  dark. 

"  Cassie  !  "  he  called  softly. 

There  was  no  answer,  and  he  went  to  push  the  chair 
away.  Then  she  started  up  from  it,  and  cried  out 
hurriedly,  — 

"  Yes !  yes !  I  'in  going.     I  '11  go  now." 

"  Why,  Cassie,  child  !     You  've  been  asleep." 

She  had  slipped  like  a  swift  shadow  to  the  stairs, 
and  was  groping  up  without  a  light.  The  chill  of  the 
room  struck  upon  him,  and  he  called  after  her,  "  Cas 
sie,  you  should  n't  act  so.  Why  in  thunder  can't  you 
sit  in  a  warm  room,  or  else  keep  up  a  fire  ? "  But 
hearing  the  door  of  her  chamber  close  behind  her, 
he  only  grumbled  a  little  at  the  foolishness  of  women 
who  have  divine  instinct  over  others'  comfort  while 
they  neglect  their  own.  He  went  off  to  bed ;  but  old 
Sally,  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  heard  a  woman's 
crying,  and  crept  to  Cassie's  door.  She  stayed  there 
a  moment  with  chilling  feet,  and  then  stole  back 
again  and  drew  her  flannel  petticoat  into  bed  with  her 
for  warmth.  Sally  lay  awake  into  the  early  dawn  and 
felt  none  the  worse.  She  needed  very  little  sleep 
now,  and  she  had  a  great  deal  of  thinking  to  do,  life 
seemed  to  her  so  curious. 

"  Lord !  Lord  !  "  said  Sally,  when  she  got  up  and 
dressed.  "  The  world  ain't  never  goin'  to  stop  turnin' 
round."  By  which  she  meant  that  it  was  more  or  less 
amazing  to  see  the  tears  of  her  youth  in  the  tears  of 
youth  again. 

All  that  day  Cassie  went  about  the  work  with  her  fine 
precision,  neglecting  nothing.  Sally  watched  her  a  lit- 


182  THE   MANNERINGS 

tie,  and  then,  feeling  in  her  the  ebb  of  passion,  judged 
that  the  girl  was  strong.  Cassie  did  not  think  very 
much  that  day,  but  she  carried  the  little  bottle  in 
her  pocket,  and  it  talked  to  her  like  a  spirit.  She 
dusted  the  library,  and  looked  in  a  drawer  and  a  cab 
inet  for  the  gloves.  They  were  not  there.  Gilbert 
had  one  of  his  silent  days  when  he  stayed  about  the 
house  like  a  cat,  and  went  no  farther  than  the  road 
for  air.  But  at  twilight  Dick  came,  and  Cassie  saw 
them  meeting  on  the  veranda,  and  heard  Gilbert  say : 

"  I  'm  going  for  a  half  mile  run.     Back  to  supper." 

"  I  shall  eat  with  the  Mannerings,"  said  Dick. 
"  Mrs.  Mannering  just  asked  me." 

"  Then  tell  them  the  dancing  hall  is  ready.  She  can 
use  it  to-night,  if  she  likes.  Bring  them  over.  If  I  'm 
not  there,  light  the  fire  and  go  ahead." 

They  walked  down  the  drive  together,  and  Cassie 
saw  them  parting  at  the  gate.  Gilbert  went  lunging 
into  the  dusk,  as  if  his  legs  cried  for  action.  She 
knew  the  Mannerings  would  be  over  in  two  hours  at 
the  most,  Elinor  among  them  with  her  fragile  yet 
invincible  beauty ;  and  the  little  bottle  spoke  in  her 
pocket. 

Old  Sally  made  biscuits  that  night,  and  fretted  be 
cause  Gilbert  did  not  come  to  eat  them.  Cassie  said 
nothing ;  but  she  watched  from  the  west  window,  and 
when  she  heard  the  whistle  he  always  gave  when  he 
had  sinned  against  supper  and  expected  it  to  be  ready 
for  him,  she  brought  hot  dishes  to  the  table  and 
poured  his  cup  of  tea.  And  as  if  she  must  do  a  cer 
tain  act  because  her  thoughts  had  grown  into  a  com 
pelling  army,  she  took  the  little  bottle  from  her  pocket 
and  began  dropping  the  ten  drops  into  his  cup.  Eli- 


A   PAIR  OF  GLOVES  183 

nor,  outside  the  window,  saw  her.  She  had  started 
away  from  the  table  with  Lorraine  and  Dick,  because 
Lorraine  was  all  impatience  to  see  her  hall.  But  the 
two  had  forsaken  her  in  the  orchard,  to  run  back  for 
music,  and  Elinor  had  come  idly  on.  She  stopped  on 
the  path  to  look  round  at  the  darkened  sky,  and  then, 
turning,  saw  the  woman  within.  It  was  not  so  much 
the  act  that  arrested  her  as  Cassie's  face.  It  was 
set,  as  if  some  mandate  had  been  laid  upon  her  and 
she  moved  unwillingly.  Elinor  opened  the  door  and 
walked  swiftly  in. 

"  Give  me  the  cup,"  she  said. 

Cassie  stood  there  over  it  and  looked  at  her.  She 
did  not  speak.  Her  lips  tightened,  yet  the  strength 
had  gone  out  of  her.  Elinor  walked  up  to  the  table 
and  lifted  the  cup.  The  girl  might  have  prevented 
her,  but  she  had  lost  volition. 

"  Is  it  tea  ?  "  asked  Elinor,  in  a  courteous  command. 
"  You  can  pour  another  cup  for  him.  Let  me  have 
this." 

"  No  !  no  !  "  cried  Cassie  strenuously.  She  stretched 
out  a  shaking  hand,  and  would  have  taken  it.  But 
Elinor  withdrew  it  further.  Old  Sally,  hearing  voices, 
had  opened  the  kitchen  door,  and  stood  there  read 
ing  the  two  faces.  She  understood  them,  and  spoke 
harshly,  - 

"  Come  !  come  !  come  !     There 's  no  harm  in  it." 

Elinor  went  past  her  to  the  kitchen  and  poured 
the  tea  into  the  sink.  She  set  down  the  cup  and 
went  back  to  the  table  where  Cassie  stood,  her  eyes 
distended,  and  one  hand  on  the  chair.  But  old  Sally 
limped  after  and  whispered  hoarsely,  — 

"  There  's  no  harm  in  it.     It 's  toothache  drops." 


184  THE   MANNERINGS 

"  No,  it  is  n't." 

"  Well,  then,  it 's  su'thin'  else." 

"  I  know.     They  're  foolish  things." 

"  Not  a  grain  o'  harm,"  avowed  Sally,  encouraged. 
"  It  don't  work  on  the  blood  as  folks  thinks.  It  works 
on  the  one  that  uses  it.  It  kinder  gives  'em  con 
fidence,  an'  brightens  up  their  eyes,  an'  makes  'em 
think  everything 's  kingdom  come.  That 's  the  way 
it  works." 

"  Give  it  to  me,"  counseled  Elinor  gently,  holding 
out  her  hand. 

But  they  heard  voices  at  the  door,  Lorraine  and 
Dick,  and  Gilbert  with  them,  and  Cassie  went  swiftly 
into  the  kitchen.  Elinor  followed  her.  The  girl 
opened  the  back  door,  and  stepped  out  into  the  night. 
Again  Elinor  was  with  her.  She  took  a  little  path 
Gilbert  often  tramped  to  the  grove  of  pines  behind  the 
house  ;  and  when  they  were  both  in  their  shadow,  she 
turned  and  spoke,  — 

"  I  wish  you  'd  let  me  alone  !  " 

"  You  must  give  it  to  me,"  said  Elinor,  "  or  you 
must  throw  the  stuff  away." 

Cassie  took  the  bottle  from  her  pocket,  pulled  out 
the  cork,  and  let  the  liquid  run  into  the  snow.  Then 
she  threw  the  bottle  as  far  as  her  strong  arm  could 
carry  it. 

"There !  "  said  she.     "Now  you  can  go  back." 

But  Elinor  did  not  move.     Cassie  spoke  sharply. 

"  Everybody 's  safe  enough  for  all  me.  I  'm  going 
away  to-morrow.  I  shan't  come  here  again." 

Elinor  had  no  conception  of  any  difference  in  per 
sons.  Her  friends  had  been  peasants,  simple  men  and 
women  who  had  suffered  like  herself,  like  her  had 


A   PAIR  OF  GLOVES  185 

sinned,  been  punished,  and  obeyed.  At  that  moment 
Cassie  and  she  seemed  amazingly  alike,  and  she  hesi 
tated  only  an  instant  for  words  to  prove  that  kinship. 
When  it  comes  to  the  higher  lands  of  feeling,  there  is 
a  singular  understanding  between  creatures  who  do 
not  speak  the  same  language  every  day.  The  priest 
need  not  hesitate  in  conveying  the  mysteries.  He  may 
not  explain  them,  but  they  are  understood. 

"  It  is  a  foolish  thing,"  she  said  again.  "  Love  is  nrt 
bought  that  way." 

Cassie  turned  dumbly  about,  and  set  her  feet  into 
the  deeper  snow. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  asked  Elinor.  But  the 
girl  did  not  answer.  Elinor  laid  hold  of  her  hand 
and  drew  it  to  her  bosom  where  the  fur  of  her  cloak 
was  warm. 

"Cassie,"  she  said  softly  yet  eagerly,  as  if  she 
awakened  some  one  who  was  sleeping,  "  that 's  no  way 
to  make  people  care.  Don't  you  know  that,  child? 
And  we  don't  want  to  make  them.  It 's  enough  to 
care  about  them." 

"  Is  it  ?  "  asked  Cassie,  in  a  dull  tone.  "  Well,  you 
go  in."  But  she  liked  the  touch  of  her  hand  upon  the 
fur.  She  felt  Elinor's  delicacy  and  luxuriance  in  this 
nearness.  There  was  something  sweet  in  it,  something 
that  lay  softly,  like  a  bloom,  upon  her  jealous  pain. 

"  It 's  enough  to  do  things  for  them,"  said  Elinor, 
speaking  with  a  rush  of  words,  as  she  remembered 
her  own  starved  life  across  the  bitter  sea.  "  I  call 
you  lucky,  Cassie.  You  can  do  things.  You  can 
make  them  comfortable.  You  can  see  that  things 
are  bright  and  clean  about  them,  that  they  eat  what 
they  like  and  find  their  bed  soft  at  night.  Some 


186  THE  MANNERINGS 

women  have  starved  for  it.  Some  women  would  give 
all  the  rest  of  their  lives  if  they  could  have  a  year 
of  waiting  on  him,  making  his  house  sweet  to  him, 
getting  their  feet  tired  taking  steps.  They  would  n't 
ask  to  be  looked  at  or  remembered.  Such  women 
would  feel  rich."  Her  own  breath  came  swiftly.  In 
another  moment  she  might  sob ;  but  she  was  not  think 
ing  of  herself,  nor  her  own  stress  of  body.  Cassie 
turned,  and  was  looking  at  her  in  the  darkness,  her 
own  face  an  interrogation  of  wonder. 

"  My  Lord  !  "  she  breathed.     "  My  Lord  !  " 

"  It 's  no  shame  to  love  a  man  who  does  n't  love  us," 
said  Elinor,  in  a  throbbing  haste.  "  It  is  something 
to  be  proud  of,  if  only  we  don't  ask  anything  back. 
We  could  n't  do  that,  could  we  ?  The  love  of  a  man 
is  easy  to  get,  I  believe  —  easy  to  get  —  what  we  can 
persuade  them  to  call  love,  when  we  have  wakened 
it  in  them.  But  we  don't  want  that.  We  want  the 
big  thing  that  is  as  real  —  as  real  as  the  earth,  Cas 
sie,  as  the  sky,  as  the  trees." 

"  All  outdoors,"  returned  Cassie  mechanically,  look 
ing  about  her,  and  inclosing  the  universe  in  her  every 
day  speech. 

"  All  outdoors.  And  if  we  can't  have  that,  there 
is  a  kind  we  can  give,  —  the  kind  that  asks  for  no 
thing  back.  It 's  like  praying  for  them  all  the  time, 
don't  you  see  ?  It 's  like  saying  to  God,  '  Remember ! 
Remember !  When  you  remember  this  earth,  remem 
ber  him.'  ' 

Cassie  felt  nothing  in  the  world,  at  the  moment, 
save  the  glow  and  charm  of  her.  It  was  not  preach 
ing,  unless  preaching  is  something  as  sweet  and  inti 
mate  as  the  speech  of  Saint  Francis  to  the  birds. 


A  PAIR   OF  GLOVES  187 

girl  felt  strangely  beloved,  as  if  something  greater 
than  she  had  included  her  in  the  flow  of  a  soft,  warm 
pity. 

"  You  're  cold,"  said  Elinor  suddenly.  "  Come 
under  my  cloak." 

"  No.     I  'm  going  in." 

"  Of  course  !  they  '11  need  you.  By  and  by  they  '11 
all  be  coming  over,  and  you  '11  have  to  make  coffee 
and  things." 

They  had  turned  toward  the  house.  Cassie  spoke 
with  a  sad  little  laugh,  that  yet,  with  its  thrill  of  hurt 
pride,  held  something  wistful. 

"  Ain't  you  afraid  I  '11  drop  something  in  ?  " 

Elinor  threw  the  end  of  her  cloak  about  the  girl's 
shoulders.  "  No,  you  won't,"  she  said.  "  That  was 
foolish.  We  don't  do  such  things  twice.  I  '11  leave 
you  here.  I  don't  believe  I  '11  come  in  at  all." 

Cassie  stopped.  She  wanted  the  world  to  go  on 
exactly  as  it  had  before  she  troubled  it. 

"  I  wish  you  would,"  she  said. 

"  I  '11  come  later.     Not  now.     Good-night." 

She  went  quickly  into  the  orchard  path,  and  Cassie 
looked  after  her,  and  then  up  at  the  sky,  where  there 
was  space.  The  created  world  seemed  suddenly  very 
great.  When  she  went  in,  old  Sally  was  setting  out 
plates  on  the  kitchen  table. 

"  He  wants  bread  and  cheese  and  beer  at  ten,"  she 
said,  without  looking  up.  "  You  give  them  pewter 
mugs  a  rub.  They  'd  ought  to  been  done  afore." 


XIX 

EARTH    AND    THE   MAN 

IT  was  a  serious  evening,  in  spite  of  Gilbert  Home's 
precautions.  The  great  fire  burned  to  a  wonder, 
and  the  rafters  were  obscurely  lighted ;  but  for  some 
reason  Lorraine  would  not  dance.  They  sat  about 
and  talked  in  a  fragmentary  way,  and  went  home 
early.  When  they  left  the  house,  Gilbert  was  be 
side  Elinor.  It  was  clear  and  cold,  and  the  orchard 
lay  inky  black.  He  proposed  a  walk,  but  nobody 
assented  very  eagerly.  Then  he  said  in  a  lower  tone 
to  Elinor :  — 

"  Come.  They  don't  want  to.  Come  on,  to  the 
five  pines." 

"  No,  not  to-night." 

She  had  not  the  heart  to  take  him  out  of  his  house 
while  Cassie  was  undone.  So  he  left  them  at  the 
door,  and  went  on  by  himself. 

Natalie  followed  Mannering  into  the  library.  He 
was  settling  his  father  in  a  chair  by  the  fire,  and  the 
old  man  was  grumbling. 

"  You  're  never  at  home  now,  Brice,"  he  said.  "  We 
used  to  have  such  long  evenings.  We  read  a  good 
deal  together,  Brice.  We  never  read  now." 

Mannering  was  beginning  to  soothe  him  with  his 
accustomed  homilies,  when  Natalie  appeared  at  his 
elbow.  She  had  not  taken  off  her  hat,  but  she  stood 


EARTH   AND   THE   MAN  189 

there,  her  jacket  over  one  arm,  and  an  outdoor  flush 
lingering  in  her  cheeks.  Her  eyes  had  brightened 
with  the  thought  of  what  she  had  to  do,  and  to  Man- 
nering  she  looked  determined.  He  was  tired  of  see 
ing  belligerent  women  at  his  elbow,  stinging  him  into 
flight. 

"  Cousin  Brice,"  said  Natalie,  "  have  you  done  what 
I  asked  you  ?  " 

"No,"  returned  Mannering,  "I  haven't." 

"  I  hate  to  bother  you  about  it  now ;  but  you  're  so 
seldom  home  early.  When  can  you  do  it,  Brice?" 

"Things  take  time,  Natalie,  they  take  time.  I 
can't  close  up  a  trust  of  that  sort  in  a  minute." 

Her  eyes  grew  large  with  disappointment. 

"  But  I  need  the  money,  Brice,"  she  declared.  "  I 
need  it." 

He  spoke  with  the  new  firmness  he  had  worn  like 
a  protective  armor  ever  since  he  had  assumed  it  before 
his  wife. 

"  I  shall  attend  to  it  at  once,  Natalie,  at  once.  Just 
give  me  time  to  turn  round.  Rome  was  n't  built  in 
a  day."  A  platitude  gave  him  a  momentary  cour 
age.  He  seemed  to  stand  upon  it,  intrenched  behind 
the  defenses  of  a  lifetime.  Then  he  began  to  cheer 
his  father  into  some  sort  of  comfortable  assurance, 
and  they  went  upstairs  together.  Natalie  stood  there 
thoughtfully  looking  at  the  fire,  when  Madam  Wal- 
singham  came  in. 

"  I  want  my  book,"  she  explained,  with  an  inciden 
tal  glance  at  Natalie.  "  Yes,  that 's  it.  I  don't  sleep 
very  much  now.  I  don't  need  it.  That  's  one  of  the 
penalties  of  age."  She  came  up  to  the  fire,  and  put 
an  exquisite  foot  to  the  blaze.  Natalie  pushed  for- 


190  THE  MANNERINGS 

ward  a  chair,  but  Madam  Walsingham  did  not  take 
it.  She  seemed  to  be  searching  the  coals  for  answers 
to  questions  that  never  could  be  asked. 

"  It 's  a  curious  thing,  growing  old,"  she  said,  and 
now  she  sank  into  a  seat  and  held  her  foot  again 
to  the  flame.  Natalie  drew  up  another  chair,  and 
curled  herself  into  its  hollow.  She  had  a  feeling  of 
kinship  with  this  old  woman,  more  binding  than  the 
tie  of  blood ;  yet  it  seemed  to  be  a  hidden  relation 
ship,  not  to  be  explored  too  curiously. 

"  You  are  the  same,"  went  on  Madam  Walsing 
ham,  musing.  "  Yet  you  are  not  in  the  least  the  same. 
You  are  a  stranger  on  the  earth.  There  is  nothing  for 
old  age  but  loneliness." 

"  Oh,  grannie  !  " 

Madam  Walsingham  did  not  heed  her  at  all.  She 
was  communing  aloud,  gathering  up  the  fluttering 
leaves  of  daily  impressions  and  plaiting  them  in  her 
hand. 

"Nobody  has  any  particular  interest  in  you,"  she 
continued,  "  except  for  what  you  can  give  them,  or 
what  they  tickle  their  vanity  in  giving  you.  You  die 
at  last  from  loneliness.  It  is  n't  because  your  joints 
creak,  and  your  eyes  won't  see  and  your  ears  won't 
hear.  It 's  because  the  young  have  inherited  the 
earth." 

Her  dispassionate  tone  was  unbearable,  and  Natalie 
in  swift  impulse  put  out  a  hand. 

"Grannie,"  said  she,  "you  mustn't.  It  isn't  true. 
You  must  n't." 

The  old  woman  looked  at  her  with  her  brilliant 
smile. 

"  You  think  I  care  ?  "  she  asked.     "  Bless  you,  no  ! 


EARTH   AND   THE  MAN  191 

There  's  nothing  I  want.  There  's  nothing  any  of  you 
could  give  me.  I  read  my  book  in  peace,  and  when 
there  's  a  red  sunset  I  like  to  look  at  it.  It 's  only 
when  I  see  women  like  you  and  that  handsome  Kate 
Mannering  champing  the  bit  and  pawing  up  the 
ground  that  I  get  tired.  I  know  what  you  're  going 
through,  and  I  know  where  it  will  land  you.  Old  age, 
my  dear,  old  age !  That 's  the  end  of  it.  Hunger  and 
labor  and  sorrow,  and  the  grave  at  last !  " 

Natalie  shrank  back  into  the  deep  chair,  and  cov 
ered  her  face  from  the  fire.  She  was  afraid  of  the 
path  before  her,  and  this  old  woman  who  had  walked 
it  was  giving  her  a  double  dread. 

Madam  Walsingham  got  up,  and  pushed  back  her 
chair.  "  I  am  tired  of  the  hunger  of  women,"  she 
said,  still  as  if  she  had  no  auditor.  "  They  agonize 
and  dream  and  agonize  again  for  one  thing  —  to  be 
loved.  They  dream  a  dream  about  love,  and  they 
find  it  and  it  is  never  like  the  dream.  And  then  they 
go  to  sleep,  and  dream  the  dream  all  over." 

"  What  do  you  want  us  to  do  ?  "  asked  Natalie,  in 
a  voice  that  held  a  cry. 

"  I  want  you  to  take  the  world  as  men  take  it :  see 
how  good  it  is,  work  a  little,  play  a  little,  and  keep 
down  hunger."  Now  she  remembered  Natalie.  She 
laid  her  hand  on  the  girl's  shoulder,  a  rare  intimacy  of 
touch.  Yet  it  was  not  a  caress  ;  it  compelled  atten 
tion.  "  I  want  you  to  be  wise,"  she  said.  "  We  live 
like  children  until  it  is  too  late.  We  are  at  the  mercy 
of  our  emotions,  and  we  call  our  emotions  sacred. 
We  might  as  well  call  a  drifting  leaf  sacred  because 
the  wind  hurries  it.  What  you  feel,  my  dear,  is  the 
awful  remnant  of  strength  you  were  meant  to  put  into 


192  THE   MANNERINGS 

bearing  children  and  being  patient  with  them.  Put 
it  into  other  things.  Work,  play.  When  you  come 
to  my  time,  don't  be  burnt  out  with  futile  fires."  She 
walked  away  with  a  soft  rustling  of  silk,  and  Natalie 
cowered  lower  into  the  chair.  At  the  door  Madam 
Walsingham  turned,  and  then  came  back.  She  spoke 
fiercely,  as  if  she  were  compelled. 

"  And  yet  there  is  something  better.  The  incred 
ible  thing  is  always  true.  Credo  quia  impossible  est. 
The  one  way  is  the  way  that  woman  Elinor  has 
found." 

"  What  is  the  way  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  way  that  has  given  that  woman  her  look, 
as  if  she  wore  a  halo.  She  is  starved,  like  the  rest 
of  you,  but  she  feeds  on  something  else.  She  has 
submitted  to  something,  and  it  feeds  her." 

Now  she  went  upstairs,  and  Natalie  sat  dominated 
by  her  as  by  one  in  authority.  The  room  was  still. 
The  fire  fell  lower.  She  seemed  not  to  be  asleep,  and 
yet  she  dreamed.  Richard  came  to  her  in  the  old 
swift  way  of  a  lover  who  was  glad  to  come.  In  the 
first  days  of  their  knowing  each  other,  they  had  fan 
cied  there  was  a  strange  communion  between  them,  so 
that  one  could  summon  and  the  other  answer.  That 
had  fallen  into  disuse  now  ;  it  was  like  other  fray- 
ings  of  enfeebled  habit.  But  to-night  she  seemed  to 
have  summoned  him.  He  knelt  beside  her  and  held 
her  cold  hand  in  his,  warm  with  an  overplus  of  life. 
"  Natalie  !  "  she  heard  him  say,  over  and  over,  her 
name  in  every  tone  of  delighted  love.  The  blood 
ran  warm  through  her  veins  where  it  had  beat  so 
sluggishly.  She  told  him  many  things,  yet  without 
words,  in  a  delicious  confidence.  She  had  that  won- 


EARTH   AND   THE   MAN  193 

derf ul  feeling  after  long  absence  of  getting  home  — 
that  satisfied  heart's  desire  with  which  we  dream,  on 
lonely  nights,  of  the  beloved  dead.  And  above  all 
there  was  warmth,  subduing  the  chill  of  loneliness. 
The  things  she  had  not  mentioned  for  years  were  now 
all  told.  They  were  like  two  new  come  to  paradise. 
She  opened  her  eyes,  and  saw  Elinor  in  the  other 
chair.  She  had  put  on  a  stick,  and  the  blazing  flame 
was  bright.  Elinor  looked  pale,  but  her  face  had  a 
beautiful  calm. 

"  Is  it  late  ?  "  asked  Natalie. 

"  Eleven.  I  heard  a  voice  and  thought  it  was 
Katharine.  So  I  came  down." 

"Did  I  cry  out?" 

Elinor  smiled  with  the  tenderness  of  some  sweet 
saint. 

"  You  made  little  moaning  noises,  like  a  child. 
They  were  happy,  so  I  did  n't  wake  you." 

"  Was  any  one  else  here  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Then  it  was  a  dream,"  said  Natalie.  "  It  was 
a  dream."  She  gathered  herself  together,  and  put 
a  hand  to  her  disordered  hair.  But  though  it  was  a 
dream,  her  face  was  warm  and  sweet  with  the  fire 
light  and  the  red  of  happiness.  They  rose  and  went 
upstairs  together,  and  all  that  night  the  mantle  of  the 
dream  was  over  her,  and  she  awoke  at  peace. 

That  night  Gilbert  Home  went  wandering  alone. 
He  pushed  into  the  deep  woods  and  visited  old  friends 
there,  big  trees  in  familiar  clearings  and  knolls  from 
which  he  saw  the  sky.  The  earth  spirit  was  upon  him, 
the  spirit  that  stood  outside  his  house  and  made  him 
uneasy  with  its  calling,  and  sooner  or  later  drew  him 


194  THE  MANNER1NGS 

forth.  He  was  at  one  with  these  nights  when  dark 
ness  reigned  below  and  the  stars  were  thick  in  a  blue 
heaven.  His  blood  ran  with  the  earth,  and  he  let  his 
mind  loose  in  far  imaginings.  In  warmer  weather  he 
was  used  to  throwing  himself  on  his  back  and  looking 
up  until  he  could  feel  how  the  earth  was  racing.  To 
night  he  leaned  against  a  tree,  and  shutting  his  mind 
to  what  was  about  him,  gave  way  to  thought.  Space 
opened  before  him,  countless  worlds  spinning  orderly 
and  true.  He  was  blotted  out,  so  far  as  being  is  voli 
tion  or  desire.  There  were  only  space  and  motion 
and  continued  time.  These  were  his  moments  of  hap 
piness.  He  worshiped  what  was  great :  it  might  be 
the  universe,  it  might  be  what  made  it ;  but  his  God 
included  the  infinite  complexity  of  things  and  made 
them  simple.  His  scorn  of  himself  and  his  own  ways 
of  life  was  not  alone  humility ;  he  found  his  happiness 
only  in  what  comprised  him  and  was  forever  larger 
than  his  thought.  Presently  he,  too,  came  out  of  his 
maze  and  went  homeward  with  the  chrism  of  it  still 
upon  him.  But  the  walls,  with  their  familiar  com 
fort,  were  no  refuge  in  a  night  like  this,  and  he 
turned  off  at  a  side  path  and  sought  out  the  house  in 
the  woods.  There  he  built  himself  a  fire,  and  lay 
down  before  it  wrapped  in  the  blanket  of  the  night. 
The  warmth  and  sweetness  of  the  place  recalled  him 
to  the  usages  of  life,  and  human  needs  awoke  and 
stung  him.  Elinor  was  in  his  mind.  His  heart 
called  her.  He  went  back  to  the  dream  of  his  youth, 
and  enfolded  it  without  a  thought  of  making  it  more 
than  a  dream.  When  he  had  imagined  himself  mated, 
it  was  always  with  some  soft  furred  creature  in  an 
other  time,  when  they  two  ran  down  watercourses 


EARTH   AND   THE  MAN  195 

together  and  nibbled  green  leaves  in  the  spring  and 
licked  their  glossy  coats.  The  wild  blood  in  him  made 
that  union  possible.  He  had  dreamed  of  women,  but 
always  because  they  awoke  the  same  swift  pulse  in 
him  ;  and  he  put  the  thought  away.  Marriage  again 
terrified  the  old  wild  blood  that  had  kept  him  with 
his  mate  in  the  watercourses.  You  could  not  aban 
don  your  white  wife  for  seasons,  as  you  could  leave 
your  glossy  mate,  and  betake  yourself  to  the  wood. 
He  was  a  savage,  in  spite  of  his  mild  manners ;  and 
elemental  wooings  and  swift  leavings  were  the  only 
ones  for  him.  So  marriage  was  not  possible.  But 
Elinor !  She  seemed  to  be  holding  a  hand  upon  his 
fevered  pulse,  not  to  still  it  but  to  teach  it  firmer 
beating.  She  seemed  to  know  the  things  he  did 
not,  intimate  secrets  of  worship  and  divinities,  and  he 
adored  her  for  it.  The  universe  knew  the  things  he 
did  not,  and  that  was  why  he,  from  his  little  space 
in  it,  wondered  and  was  happy.  But  she  seemed,  the 
immortal  spirit  of  her,  to  be  different  from  the  uni 
verse  as  he  had  known  it.  So  he  lay  before  the  fire 
and  thought,  not  of  men  and  women  until  morning, 
as  he  had  sometimes  done,  but  of  the  woman  who 
seemed  to  him  all  spirit,  and  of  whom,  since  she  was 
a  spirit,  he  was  afraid. 


XX 

AN   EQUAL   RIGHT 

TO-NIGHT  Mannering  had  come  home  early,  de 
lighting  his  father,  who  sang  the  old  song  of  loneliness 
without  him.  They  had  some  confidences  of  a  small 
nature  in  the  library,  the  old  man  telling  what  he  had 
for  his  luncheon  and  the  probable  effect  and  Brice 
listening  with  a  patience  that  never  failed.  Presently 
he  advised  the  captain  to  go  for  a  walk  on  the  ve 
randa  as  a  hygienic  measure,  and  promised  to  join 
him  later ;  and  when  the  old  man  had  pottered  out, 
staff  in  hand  and  swathed  to  the  chin,  Brice  went  to 
the  stairs  and  called  Katharine.  She  came  wonder- 
ingly,  and  looked  down  at  him.  There  had  been  little 
intercourse  between  them  of  late. 

"  I  want  to  see  you,"  he  repeated. 

"  I  '11  be  down  in  a  minute." 

He  went  back  and  established  himself  by  the  fire. 
He  was  tired.  This  unusual  business  of  staying  in 
town  to  escape  Katharine  had  upset  his  orderly  rou 
tine.  He  was  of  those  for  whom  life  can  run  on  for 
ever,  so  no  small  obstacle  is  placed  in  the  way,  but 
who  are  easily  checked  and  lamed.  Bound  round  by 
habit,  he  was  a  man  who,  in  his  soul,  thought  he  might 
do  anything ;  but  when  custom  was  broken,  he  was 
shattered  too.  More  than  that,  the  excitement  of 
success  after  years  of  a  mild  commercial  puddling 


AN  EQUAL  RIGHT  197 

tried  him  to  irritability,  because  he  was  not  quite  sure 
wljat  new  thing  the  business  exigency  might  demand. 
He  was  blundering  with  unfamiliar  tools. 

Katharine  came  in,  gravely  inquiring.  There  were 
dark  shadows  under  her  eyes.  She  looked  as  if  she 
had  fallen  below  the  measure  of  her  usual  health. 
Brice,  the  most  scrupulous  of  men,  vowed  to  the  old- 
fashioned  courtesy  in  which  he  and  his  father  were 
of  one  habit,  did  not  rise  to  receive  her.  He  looked 
up  from  the  chair  where  he  had  settled,  and  nodded 
toward  the  door. 

"  Shut  it,  won't  you  ?  "  he  said,  and  Katharine 
obeyed,  again  wondering.  She  took  the  opposite 
chair  and  waited.  Brice  looked  over  at  her  with  the 
appealing  air  of  one  who  asks  counsel  of  a  person  who 
may  refuse  it. 

"  Katie,"  said  he,  "  can't  you  write  another  book  ?  " 

"Another  book?" 

"  Our  orders  are  falling  off.  '  Hearts  Inspired  ' 
is  n't  keeping  up  to  last  month's  sales." 

"  You  don't  seem  to  have  slackened  in  your  adver 
tising." 

Everywhere  "  Hearts  Inspired  "  faced  her  until  she 
was  sick  of  the  name.  The  newspapers  were  still  big 
with  it,  and  she  had  given  up  going  into  town  because 
it  jumped  at  her  from  every  corner.  It  was  arrogant 
advertising,  the  output  of  a  man  who  could  waste 
money  like  water,  or  the  work  of  a  child  who  plays 
the  game  to  win  or  lose  the  whole. 

"  I  've  spent  thousands  in  it,  thousands,"  he  re 
peated.  "  But  we  've  got  to  do  something  more. 
Write  another  book,  Katie.  I  '11  announce  it  — '  Au 
thor  of  "  Hearts  Inspired.  "  It  need  n't  run  to  any 


198  THE  MANNERINGS 

great  length  —  eighty  thousand  words  would  do. 
4  Hearts  Inspired '  is  a  long  book.  A  shorter  one 
would  go  still  better.  How  do  you  feel  about  it  ?  " 

He  looked  at  her  appealingly,  in  an  absolute  oblivion 
that  the  book  had  ever  come  between  them.  She  was 
a  moment  silent,  gazing  at  him  in  a  dazed  speculation 
and  wondering  if  he  really  could  forget. 

"  What  kind  of  a  book  should  you  advise  ? "  she 
asked. 

His  face  cleared  with  the  hope  of  counsel. 

"  Another  novel,"  he  said  eagerly.  "  On  the  same 
lines,  exactly  the  same  lines.  What  do  you  say  to  a 
sequel  ?  " 

"A  sequel  never  goes,"  returned  Katharine  quietly, 
still  watching  him  as  if  she  tempted  his  soul  to  come 
forth  and  be  inspected. 

Mannering  had  no  idea  of  concealing  his  soul.  He 
had  very  simple  motives,  and  he  saw  no  need  of  hiding 
them.  Katharine  might  have  known  his  heart  from 
the  beginning,  if  she  had  not  denied  herself  by  fitting 
him  to  invisible  standards.  Now,  he  thought,  they 
were  in  some  accord. 

"No,  a  sequel  might  fall  flat,"  he  said  reflectively. 
u  But  another  book  on  the  lines  of  this.  Some  dash 
in  it,  some  go,  and  as  daring  as  you  like.  You  can 
do  it." 

"  What  can  you  recommend  if  I  don't  do  it  ?  " 

"  There  's  only  one  thing.  We  must  disclose  the 
authorship." 

"  What  ?  " 

"  An  announcement  in  the  papers :  '  Katharine 
Mannering,  the  wife  of  the  publisher,  is  said  to  be  the 
author  of  "  Hearts  Inspired."  That  brings  the  re- 


AN  EQUAL   RIGHT  199 

porters  out.  You  would  n't  mind  interviews  :  they 
stimulate  the  public.  That 's  it,  Kate  —  stimulate  ! 
You  could  tell  how  you  wrote  it.  You  could  talk  to 
women's  clubs.  But  a  new  book  —  that 's  the  thing !  " 

Horror  took  hold  on  her ;  this  spectre  of  a  public 
avowal  she  had  never  faced  before.  So  far,  she  had 
borne  the  stigma  of  the  thing  because  of  the  secrecy 
surrounding  it.  That  Gilbert  Home  should  know  it, 
that  he  should  even  see  in  perpetuity  of  print  the 
book  he  had  condemned,  was  scorching  to  her.  She 
had  wondered  whether  he  suspected  how  the  deed  was 
done,  or  if  he  thought  her  base  enough  to  do  it.  But 
she  could  not  tell  him.  The  bond  forbade,  and  she 
hated  it  anew  because  it  smirched  her.  And  now  it 
was  not  a  man,  but  all  men  who  must  know. 

"  Brice,"  said  she,  "  you  must  not  tell  anybody  I 
wrote  that  book." 

44  Oh,  very  well,  very  well !  But  I  've  got  to  do 
something.  Will  you  write  another  ?  " 

44 1  might.  I  don't  know.  But  if  I  wrote  another 
it  would  be  of  a  different  kind,  a  decent  story  over 
my  own  name.  I  will  not  go  through  life  with  this 
horrible  thing  tacked  to  my  breast  like  a  disgrace.  I 
will  not."  The  indignation  he  so  hated  came  upon 
her,  and  she  grew  to  tragic  stature. 

44  Now,  now,  Katie  !  "  he  said  irritably,  44  don't  get 
so  mad.  I  wish  to  heaven  you  would  n't  get  so  mad." 

Her  mind,  thrown  back  upon  itself,  suffocated 
under  its  inability  to  force  an  understanding  on  him. 
It  was  like  screaming  to  deaf  ears,  and  then,  when 
her  voice  was  torn  to  tatters,  finding  she  must  scream 
again. 

44  You  don't  understand,  Brice,"  she  insisted,  44you 


200  THE  MANNERINGS 

don't  understand.  When  you  published  that  book,  you 
did  me  a  great  wrong.  I  did  wrong  in  writing  it.  I 
will  have  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  it  now.  You 
brought  my  punishment  upon  me  by  printing  it.  But 
that  is  penalty  enough." 

It  seemed  foolish  indeed  to  him,  this  talk  of  ab 
stract  punishments  when  tangible  issues  were  at  stake. 
To  his  mind  she  was  absolutely  lacking  in  a  compre 
hension  of  bare  fact.  Things  were  in  a  bad  way  for 
him,  and  a  little  acquiescence  on  her  part  might  help 
him  through.  He  dared  the  truth. 

"  You  've  got  to  see  things  as  they  are.  Natalie  's 
hounding  me  to  settle  up  her  estate.  She  wants  her 
money.  She  says  she  's  got  to  have  it." 

"  It 's  her  money.     Give  it  to  her." 

"  Good  Lord,  Kate  !  that  money  has  gone  into  the 
firm." 

"  What  ?  " 

He  lost  patience  with  her. 

"  How  did  you  think  I  had  advertised  '  Hearts 
Inspired  '  as  I  have  ?  Did  you  suppose  they  gave  me 
space?" 

"  Then  you  have  muddled  it  away  ?  " 

"  Muddled  it  away !  I  am  getting  it  back  on  the 
book." 

"  Then  what  you  get  on  the  book  belongs  to  Nata 
lie." 

That  formula  enraged  him.  Here  was  an  abstruse 
calculation  reduced  to  a  simple  arithmetic  that  left 
him  nowhere. 

"It  does  n't  belong  to  Natalie,"  he  said.  "  It  be 
longs  to  me.  I  borrowed  it." 

"  How  did  you  borrow  it  ?  " 


AN  EQUAL  RIGHT  201 

"  I  borrowed  it.     I  was  her  trustee." 

"  Did  you  borrow  it  by  the  expedient  you  used  to 
get  my  signature  ?  " 

He  did  not  answer  that ;  but  after  a  moment  he 
spoke  with  dignity. 

"  It  has  been  necessary,  from  time  to  time,  for 
Natalie  to  transfer  securities  to  me.  She  has  always 
done  it  willingly.  She  has  had  the  utmost  confidence 
in  me.  I  have  never  betrayed  her  confidence." 

"  Then  you  will  give  her  back  her  money,  Brice,  — 
whatever  you  have  made  out  of  that  book." 

u  Natalie  will  be  paid  everything  ultimately,"  he 
said,  with  the  dignity  of  the  man  who  proposes  to  pay 
nothing  at  the  time. 

"  Now,  now,  Brice !  She  wants  it  now.  And  get  it 
out  of  your  hands.  It 's  stolen  money.  Pay  her  now." 

"Kate,  you  talk  like  a  fool.  Do  you  think  my 
business  is  like  selling  a  yard  of  tape,  getting  twenty- 
five  cents  for  it,  and  finding  the  twenty-five  cents  in 
the  drawer  at  night  ?  I  can  pay  her,  —  I  shall,  in  six 
months  or  so.  I  can't  put  my  hand  in  my  trousers 
pocket  and  bring  out  the  money  now." 

She  leaned  her  head  on  her  hand,  and  looked  out  of 
the  window  with  glittering  eyes. 

"  It 's  all  very  unfortunate.  If  I  could  publish  one 
or  two  more  books  on  the  strength  of  this,  I  could 
arrange  the  whole  thing  without  feeling  it ;  but  as  it 
is,  it 's  not  to  be  done.  Natalie  must  wait." 

"  Natalie  must  wait !  It 's  her  money,  and  she 
wants  it,  and  she  must  wait !  " 

"  Then,  confound  it,  if  she  's  got  to  be  paid,  why 
can't  you  do  the  only  thing  to  bring  it  about  ?  Write 
another  book,  and  there  you  are." 


202  THE  MANNERINGS 

She  rose  from  her  chair  and  stood  regarding  him. 

"I  shan't  write  another  book,  Brice,"  she  said 
evenly,  but  as  if  she  bade  him  take  heed.  "  I  shan't 
call  myself  your  wife,  and  I  shan't  live  in  this  house 
after  a  few  weeks  more." 

"  Oh,  for  God's  sake,  don't  go  back  to  that !  "  he 
cried,  beyond  his  slight  endurance.  "  You  have  been 
threatening  to  leave  me  for  the  last  fifteen  years. 
When  we  get  out  of  this  hole,  we  '11  see  about  it ;  but 
it 's  no  time  now." 

"  I  ought  to  have  done  it  fifteen  years  ago.  I 
was  a  coward  and  a  fool.  I  had  a  right  to  my  liberty. 
I  had  a  right  to  live  my  life  in  the  way  I  thought 
best.  These  things  prove  it  to  me." 

Brice  got  up  from  his  chair,  and  approached  her. 
He  was  not  irritated  now.  He  looked  manly  even  to 
her,  in  his  sincerity. 

"  See  here,  Kate,"  he  said,  "did  it  ever  occur  to  you 
I  had  a  right  to  live  my  life  in  the  way  I  wanted  to  ? 
If  you  had  a  right  to,  had  n't  I  ?  Say  now,  had  n't  I  ?  " 

She  answered  quickly,  — 

"  You  had  !  you  had  !  I  've  always  been  sorry  for 
you,  because  you  were  tied  to  me,  as  I  was  tied  to 
you." 

"  You  need  n't  have  been  sorry.  I  did  n't  want  to 
get  away.  But  some  things  I  did  want,  and  as  you 
say,  if  I  want  'em  I  've  a  right  to  'em.  I  want  to 
make  money.  I  want  the  things  it  will  bring  me.  I 
want  to  take  father  abroad  before  he  's  too  old.  If 
you  've  got  a  right  to  lead  your  life  the  way  you 
please,  I  've  got  a  right  to  lead  mine." 

She  looked  upon  him  in  an  understanding  so  sud 
den  that  it  gave  her  pain. 


AN  EQUAL   RIGHT  203 

"  But,  Brice,"  she  said,  "  you  've  done  the  things 
men  can't  do.  You  've  done  things  in  the  dark. 
You  've  taken  Natalie's  money." 

"  1  guess  we  all  do  things  in  the  dark  more  or  less, 
when  we  're  looking  out  for  number  one."  He  spoke 
with  a  new  ease  of  confidence.  "  You  want  to  get 
away  from  me.  You  say  you  have  a  right  to.  I 
don't  want  to  get  away  from  you,  but  I  want  some 
other  things.  We  're  both  fighting  for  what  we 
want." 

In  all  their  years  together  he  had  never  approached 
as  near  to  any  consideration  of  their  common  cause. 
Whenever  she  had  touched  upon  vital  issues  he  had 
refused  to  talk,  and  so  dumbly  that  she  sometimes 
wondered  whether  he  even  heard  her.  But  his  man 
ner  changed  at  once  into  the  old  triteness. 

"  You  start  another  book,  Katie,"  he  said.  "  It  '11 
be  all  right  if  you  '11  start  another  book." 

She  turned  toward  the  door,  her  muscles  weak 
under  her. 

"  Brice,"  she  said,  "  Natalie  must  be  paid." 

"  Natalie  's  going  to  be  paid,"  he  replied  cheerfully. 
"  But  you  write  that  book  !  " 

Then  Katharine  went  upstairs,  and  she  heard  the 
door  clang  after  him  as  he  hurried  out  to  join  his 
father. 

Katharine  walked  into  her  own  room.  Elinor  was 
there  on  the  couch  under  the  window,  a  book  in  her 
hand.  She  looked  up  and  then  came  to  her  feet,  to 
go  away. 

"  No,"  said  Katharine,  aware  of  her,  but  not  gath 
ering  herself  yet  to  speak.  "  Sit  down,  Nell.  I 
want  you."  She  took  a  chair  by  the  fire,  and  resting 


204  THE  MANNERINGS 

her  chin  on  her  hand,  sat  there  looking  into  the  coals. 
At  last  she  spoke,  throwing  off  the  perplexity  that 
had  held  her. 

u  Nell,  I  have  never  understood  it  at  all." 

"  What  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  understood  anything  between  Brice 
and  me.  I  thought  we  were  like  strangers  living 
together,  and  yet  I  believe  I  have  been  moulding  him 
all  this  time.  I  have  made  him  do  things  he  never 
would  have  done." 

"  I  always  knew  you  had  a  great  influence  over 
him.  He  refers  things  to  you.  He  wants  to  please 
you." 

"  He  does  n't  want  to  please  me  ;  he  wants  to  vin 
dicate  himself.  I  have  despised  him  all  my  life.  He 
knows  it.  I  have  adored  anything  that  was  strong 
and  big  and  valiant.  So  all  the  time  he  tries  in  his 
way  to  be  valiant  —  to  justify  himself.  But  he 
works  like  a  mole  in  the  dark,  because  that 's  his 
way,  too." 

"  I  don't  understand,  Kate." 

"  I  can't  tell  you  any  plainer.  But,  don't  you  see, 
I  have  preached  the  gospel  of  the  individual's  right 
to  liberty  ?  He  may  not  believe  in  me,  but  I  domi 
nate  him  by  sheer  animal  force.  So  he,  too,  believes 
the  doctrine  of  individuality  ;  but  to  him  it  does  n't 
mean  the  things  we  all  ought  to  want :  it  means  the 
things  he  wants.  And  why  should  n't  it  ?  Poor 
Brice  ! " 

Elinor  was  too  far  outside  to  answer,  and  Katha 
rine  went  on  in  the  same  musing  tone. 

"  He  said  we  all  do  things  in  the  dark.  Well, 
don't  we  ?  When  our  blood  mounts,  and  we  want 


AN   EQUAL  RIGHT  205 

our  way,  would  our  desires  bear  the  light  ?  When  I 
look  at  a  good  clean  man,  stronger  than  I,  and  say  to 
myself,  '  Would  to  God,  God  had  given  me  to  him 
instead  of  Briee !  '  do  my  thoughts  bear  the  light  any 
more  than  Brice's  when  he  stretches  out  his  hands  to 
take  what  he  can't  get  ?  "  She  spoke  with  such  pas 
sion  that  Elinor  longed  to  answer  her  availingly  ;  but 
all  possible  words  seemed  platitudes.  Katharine  struck 
her  knee  with  her  clenched  fist.  "  Everything  in  life, 
everything,"  she  said,  "  seems  to  prove  that  we  must 
walk  in  the  way  men  have  marked  out  for  us.  But 
it  is  not  right,  Nell.  Is  it  right  ?" 

"  Is  what  right  ?  " 

"  Is  it  right  for  me  to  die  of  starvation  and  mad 
ness  and  despair  living  up  to  a  farcical  bond  with  a 
man  like  Brice  ?  " 

"  Kate,  on  my  soul  and  honor  I  don't  know.  I 
only  know  it  is  right  not  to  think  of  ourselves." 

"  What  shall  we  think  of  ?  The  creature  we  are 
tied  to  ?  I  have  hurt  him  by  living  with  him,  as 
much  as  he  has  hurt  me." 

"  We  must  think  of  what  is  higher  than  our 
selves." 

"  Shall  no  wife  ever  leave  the  man  she  married  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Kate,  yes  !     There  are  reasons." 

"  Are  the  reasons  that  affect  society  always  to  out 
weigh  the  reasons  that  crush  the  soul  ?  If  Brice  were 
a  madman,  they  'd  let  me  leave  him.  Shall  I  stay, 
when  I  am  going  to  grow  into  a  madwoman  by  stay- 
ing?" 

"  Kate,  you  blind  me ;  you  bewilder  me." 

"And  the  thing  is  doubly  horrible  to  me  when  I 
see  how  it  has  affected  Brice.  I  thought  he  was  more 


206  THE  MANNERINGS 

or  less  contented,  pottering  about  his  little  paths. 
Let  him  alone,  and  he  would  have  been  blameless ; 
but  I  have  bent  and  urged  and  twisted  him  until 
he  is  as  much  a  victim  to  this  awful  life  as  I  have 
been.  Don't  you  see,  Elinor  ?  It 's  not  only  the 
one  creature  who  is  unhappy,  not  one  only  who  wants 
to  get  away.  They  act  and  react  on  each  other. 
Yet  what  are  we  to  do  ?  I  say  the  individual  shall 
be  free.  I  say  it  until  another  man  believes  it  and 
he  takes  the  freedom  he  likes  best.  What  shall  we 
do?" 

"  It  is  simpler  to  do  the  things  that  everybody 
must  do.  If  we  have  made  a  promise,  we  must 
keep  it." 

"  If  it  is  an  unrighteous  one  ?  I  won't,  Nell,  I 
won't.  You  can't  make  me.  I  may  not  have  a  right 
to  freedom,  but  I  will  be  free." 

"  You  shall  be  free,"  flashed  Elinor,  the  woman  in 
her  mounting.  "  You  shall  go  away  by  yourself.  Or 
you  shall  go  with  me,  and  I  won't  look  at  you  or 
speak  to  you  twice  a  day." 

Yet  as  she  spoke,  something  rose  before  her  like 
a  vision  :  the  outline  of  a  cross  in  a  great  sky.  She 
could  not  find  the  way :  only  life  seemed  of  necessity 
a  bondage,  not  to  any  man  or  congregation  of  men, 
but  to  the  ideal  as  suffering  creatures  have  decreed  it. 
To  repudiate  a  promise  gave  her  a  hurt,  as  if  one 
should  tear  down  a  little  from  a  structure  built  up, 
inch  on  inch,  by  patient  creatures  who  dragged  thither 
with  bleeding  feet  to  bring  their  tribute.  Yet  here 
was  the  concrete  issue,  and  she  found  no  words.  The 
paradox  had  blinded  her. 

"  Where  are  the  big  deeds,  if  nobody  dares  to  do 


AN  EQUAL  RIGHT  207 

them?"  Kate  was  saying.  "The  world  goes  on, 
and  one  day  somebody  rebels.  You  call  him  a  lib 
erator." 

"  Yes,  if  he  dies  for  something  not  himself." 

"  If  I  free  myself,  it  may  be  easier  for  other  women, 
other  men.  I  'm  not  doing  it  for  that,  Nell.  No,  I  'm 
not.  I  'm  doing  it  because  there  's  something  suffo 
cating  in  me.  It  wants  to  breathe." 

Again  Elinor  fell  into  thought,  and  when  Katharine 
spoke  she  voiced  that  inner  colloquy. 

"  Must  I  live  with  him,  Nell  ?     Must  I  ?  " 

"  I  think  not,"  said  Elinor.  "  I  think  you  must  go 
away." 

Hot  blood  rose  in  Katharine,  and  turned  her  reck 
less. 

"I  want  my  life,"  she  cried.  "All  these  years, 
these  days  and  nights  and  springs  and  summers,  and 
the  earth  budding  under  me,  and  I  have  n't  had  my 
life.  What  if  God  said  to  me,  '  You  fool !  I  gave 
you  life  and  you  would  n't  take  it.  Somebody  tied  a 
piece  of  twine  round  your  wrists  and  round  your 
ankles,  and  you  would  n't  snap  it.'  Nell,  this  bond 
with  Brice,  —  why,  it 's  like  bamboozling  donkeys  as 
they  do  sometimes.  They  loop  one  bridle  round  the 
next  donkey's  ear.  He  's  tied,  and  so  he  stands." 

"  It  is  not  a  bond  with  Brice.  It 's  a  bond  with  all 
mankind." 

"Then  am  I  to  stay?  Will  it  do  mankind  any 
good  to  have  me  go  mad  here,  driving  Brice  mad, 
too?" 

"Kate,  you  will  go,  you  are  going!  But  you 
must  n't  ask  me  questions.  I  can't  answer  them." 

Katharine  got  up,  and  one  of  her  mercurial  changes 


208  THE  MANNERINGS 

came  upon  her.  She  put  clever  fingers  to  her  hair, 
and  settled  it  in  its  beautiful  disorder. 

"  Nell,"  said  she,  "  I  am  going  to  write  a  book." 

"  Good  luck  to  it !  " 

"  It 's  going  to  show  the  ruin  of  a  husband  through 
the  incendiary  preaching  of  a  virtuous  wife.  I  shall 
leave  it  in  Brice's  way,  and  he  will  publish  it." 


XXI 

A   GIFT   REFUSED 

THE  days  were  nearly  all  white  ones,  with  new  fallen 
snow  blocking  the  roads  or  a  glittering  crust  spread 
like  a  web  of  glass  upon  the  hills.  There  had  not 
for  many  years  been  such  a  rigorous  winter.  Some 
thing  so  stimulating  was  in  the  air  that  they  felt  it  at 
Edgcombe  Hill,  and  were  moved  by  it,  each  after  his 
own  nature.  Only  upon  Natalie  it  lay  cold  like  an 
omen  of  death.  The  snow  seemed  to  be  holding  down 
the  earth  and  chilling  it,  as  silence  held  her  and  de 
spair  had  stopped  her  blood.  She  thought  without 
hope  of  the  breaking  of  bonds  in  the  spring.  It  was 
like  the  knowledge  that  life  will  come  to  some  but  not 
to  us,  as  it  befalls  when  pain  has  dulled  us,  so  that  we 
see  the  earth  delivered  over  into  other  hands.  She 
thought  of  Dick  day  and  night  as  she  had  for  years, 
only  now  she  had  the  present  task  of  freeing  him  from 
Lorraine.  All  the  hurts  of  common  jealousy  had  for 
saken  her.  There  was  not  enough  power  in  her  blood 
to  carry  that  elemental  pang.  But  she  knew  her  sis 
ter,  with  a  cold  certainty  born  out  of  the  past.  If 
Dick  were  to  court  her  now,  and  fit  the  fondness 
of  maturity  to  old  passion,  she  knew  Lorraine  would 
never  take  that  offering.  Worse,  she  would  never 
leave  it ;  but  Dick  would  go  wandering  after  her,  one 
of  her  purveyors  of  pleasure,  rewarded  by  her  sweet- 


210  THE  MANNERINGS 

natured  friendliness  and  the  chance  to  do  more  ser 
vice.  And  Dick  could  not  afford  it.  Neither  as  a 
matter  of  feeling  nor  of  years  could  he  afford  it. 
Natalie  saw  him  now  building  up  some  solid  interest, 
it  might  be  books  or  it  might  be  farming ;  but  he 
must  not  drift.  The  time  for  wandering  was  over. 
He  must  clench  with  life  and  conquer,  or  let  it  throw 
him.  She  had  stood  aside  from  any  emotional  on 
slaught,  but  now  that  resolution  failed,  and  she  set 
her  will  upon  him.  Night  after  night,  when  he  and 
Lorraine  were  at  the  piano,  or  laughing  in  the  cold 
air  as  they  paced  up  and  down,  she  sat  in  her  cham 
ber  with  locked  hands  and  called  him  to  her.  But 
he  never  came.  He  was  good  to  her.  Dick  was  al 
ways  that ;  yet  he  never  saw  her  when  Lorraine  was 
by.  Night  after  night  she  would  look  at  her  drawn 
face  in  the  glass,  and  think  how  unlovely  it  was  com 
pared  with  features  that  were  made  to  show  content. 
Still,  she  told  herself  again,  she  had  seen  those  eyes 
laugh.  She  had  caught  curving  delight  upon  the 
mouth.  If  earth  had  fed  her  with  some  milk  of  faith 
fulness,  she  would  have  been  as  beautiful  as  Lorraine. 
Once  when  revolt  was  strong  upon  her,  she  put  on  her 
hat  and  jacket  and  ran  downstairs. 

"  Dick,"  she  said,  from  the  hall,  "  come  here  a  min 
ute." 

He  came  from  a  talk  with  Mannering  about  the 
book.  Natalie  was  breathless,  but  she  spoke  calmly 
as  she  always  did  to  him,  because  she  hated  her  emo 
tions.  She  knew  they  had  no  beauty  in  them. 

"  I  want  a  little  run.  Get  your  hat,  quick.  Come 
with  me." 

She  read  his  eyes. 


A  GIFT  REFUSED  211 

"No,"  said  Natalie.  "No!  Don't  call  them. 
Come  alone.  I  won't  take  you  far."  She  opened 
the  door  and  hurried  out ;  he  followed  her.  She  ran 
down  into  the  road,  excited  by  good  fortune,  and  afraid 
yet  of  Lorraine's  voice  behind  her  in  the  dark.  Out 
under  the  sky,  she  breathed  again.  Dick  took  her 
hand  and  drew  it  within  his  arm. 

"  Which  way  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Any  way.  Yes,  that."  They  followed  the  path 
to  the  house  in  the  woods.  It  was  natural  to  do  that, 
having  no  purpose.  Natalie  could  not  speak  on  the 
way.  She  hurried  him,  and  Dick,  wondering  at  her, 
tried  to  talk  a  little,  and  then  whistled.  When  they 
reached  the  knoll,  he  asked  her,  - 

"  Going  in  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Natalie.  It  seemed  to  her  she  might 
have  more  breath  if  she  rested.  Dick  pushed  open 
the  door.  It  was  no  surprise  to  find  a  dying  fire. 
"  Old  Gil !  "  said  he,  and  threw  on  wood.  But  after 
wards  when  he  struck  a  match,  she  took  it  from  his 
hand  and  dropped  it  into  the  fire.  "  No,"  she  said, 
"  don't  get  a  light.  I  can't  talk  in  the  light." 

"  Is  anything  the  matter,  Natalie  ?  "  he  asked,  in 
his  kindly  tone.  It  was  solicitous ;  her  jealous  heart 
told  her  it  was  not  loving. 

O 

"  No,  nothing  is  the  matter.  Only,  Dick,  I  want 
you  to  take  my  money." 

"  Your  money,  child  ?     What  for  ?  " 

She  hurried  on,  speaking  with  calmness,  though 
that  inner  anguish  twisted  her  poor  lips. 

"  It  is  n't  much,  but  I  want  you  to  go  into  busi 
ness  with  it.  I  want  you  to  buy  out  Fiske  and 
Bailey." 


212  THE  MANNERINGS 

"  Dear  child,  I  can't  do  that."  He  was  deeply 
moved.  Natalie  was  always  doing  things  for  him  in 
a  shy  way,  and  he  was  always  warding  them  off.  She 
was  inviting  the  world  to  rob  her  at  every  turn.  He 
protected  her  from  the  consequences  of  her  own  warm 
heartedness. 

"  I  knew  you  'd  say  so !  I  knew  it !  Why  can't 
you,  Dick?  There's  no  reason  why  you  can't." 

"  There 's  every  reason,  Natalie."  He  spoke  gravely, 
but  his  eyes  were  wet. 

"  What  reason  ?  " 

"  If  I  want  to  buy  out  Fiske  and  Bailey,  I  must 
borrow,  if  I  've  got  the  nerve,  and  do  it  as  men  do. 
I  can't  take  a  woman's  money." 

She  brought  up  her  reserves  of  subterfuge. 

"  You  see,  Dick,"  she  said,  clasping  her  hands  to 
gether  on  her  lap,  "  I  want  to  be  in  it,  too.  I  want 
to  go  into  business." 

"  You,  Natalie  ?  Gammon  !  You  don't  know  a 
ledger  from  a  Keats." 

"  I  want  to  put  my  money  into  something."  She 
was  groping  after  the  convincing  phrase.  "  You  and 
I  could  be  partners.  I  furnish  the  money,  you  the 
brains.  I  don't  appear  in  it  at  all.  I  should  be  very 
cocky  over  it." 

"  Yes,  I  see,  dear,"  said  Dick  gravely.  He  took 
her  hand  and  kissed  it.  u  You  're  a  good  child,  Nat 
alie." 

"  Do  it  for  me,  Dick !  " 

"  No,  I  can't  do  it.     But  you  're  a  good  child." 

"  Well,"  concluded  Natalie,  in  a  dull  acquiescence, 
folding  her  hands  again,  "  then  it 's  of  no  use.  We 
can  go  home  now." 


A  GIFT  REFUSED  213 

But  Dick  had  seated  himself,  and  clasped  his  hands 
above  his  head. 

"  One  minute,"  he  petitioned.  "  Is  anything  the 
matter  with  Lorraine  ?  Does  anything  bother  her  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know/'  She  had  put  on  the  careful  re 
straint  that  served  her  when  he  talked  about  Lor 
raine. 

"  Lorraine  is  different.  She  is  abstracted.  She  is 
thinking  about  things  she  does  n't  tell.  Lorraine  can't 
be  unhappy." 

"Why?" 

"  Oh,  she  can't  be !  It  is  n't  in  her.  That 's  why 
she  is  so  fascinating.  She  's  irresponsible.  She 's 
consistent  in  it.  She  's  complete." 

Natalie  shrank  from  asking  too  much,  yet  she  forced 
her  dry  lips  to  say,  — 

"  Do  you  understand  her  better  than  you  did  ?  " 

"Than  I  did  when?" 

"  Years  ago,  when  she  was  a  girl." 

He  laughed  unaffectedly.  It  betrayed  some  past 
communion  with  himself. 

"  I  understand  her  very  well,"  he  said.  "  She  "s  a 
thing  of  beauty  and  a  joy  forever." 

Natalie  rose. 

"  Now  we  'U  go,"  she  said,  with  the  calm  that  fits  a 
subject  done  and  over.  "  Smash  the  fire  a  little. 
There,  that 's  right." 

They  walked  home  very  fast,  and  Natalie  gained  a 
color  from  the  wind.  Her  cheeks  were  pink  with  it, 
and  her  lips  parted  with  the  need  of  breath.  Dick 
took  her  jacket  and  hung  it  up,  smiling  at  her  as  if 
he  thanked  her  over  again  for  what  "she  offered  him. 
She  ran  upstairs,  and  in  a  moment  she  heard  the 


214  THE   MANNERINGS 

piano,  and  knew  Lorraine  was  dancing.  His  voice 
sounded  in  her  ears  above  the  music,  —  "a  thing  of 
beauty  and  a  joy  forever." 

Natalie  had  no  more  time  for  brooding.  It  seemed 
to  her  that  she  must  act  in  haste,  and  she  found 
out  Manuering  where  he  sat  in  the  library,  alone 
this  time,  for  the  captain,  mysteriously  tired,  had  gone 
to  bed.  Mannering  looked  up,  and  drew  his  brows 
together  with  a  nervous  frown.  Now  he  was  haunted 
by  two  women  instead  of  one.  Natalie  closed  the  door 
behind  her,  and  began  without  preamble.  She  knew 
she  had  clever  things  to  divulge,  such  as  must  con 
vince  him. 

"  Cousin  Brice,"  she  said,  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you, 
in  confidence." 

"  By  all  means,"  returned  Brice,  laying  down  his 
paper.  "  In  confidence,  of  course  !  Safe  as  a  church, 
Natalie,  safe  as  a  church !  " 

Natalie  had  conceived  some  new  respect  for  him,  of 
late,  because  of  "  Hearts  Inspired."  He  had  made  it 
the  talk  of  many  towns.  She  might,  she  thought, 
have  underrated  cousin  Brice. 

"  I  am  going  to  tell  you  what  I  wanted  money  for." 

"Ah!" 

"  I  am  tired  of  doing  nothing,"  said  Natalie,  piling 
up  her  little  cardhouse  as  she  had  planned  to  build  it 
before  Dick.  "  I  want  some  interest  in  life.  I  shall 
go  into  business." 

Brice  frowned  his  discouragement.  Here,  thought 
he,  was  another  woman  gone  mad  over  nothing.  No 
axiom  came  to  hand,  and  he  frowned  the  deeper  in  a 
consequential  protest. 

"  I  made  Richard  a  business  proposition,"  said  Nat- 


A  GIFT   REFUSED  215 

alie,  her  voice  shaking  a  little.  But  she  controlled  it, 
and  went  on.  "I  asked  him  to  let  me  buy  out  Fiske 
and  Bailey  —  all  this  is  in  confidence,  cousin  Brice  — 
and  to  let  me  have  a  share  of  the  business.  A  silent 
partner  —  is  that  what  you  call  it  ?  He  is  not  will- 
ing." 

"  Really  ?  "  said  Brice,  in  a  cordiality  that  was  half 
relief.  "  So  that  's  off,  and  you  don't  want  any  dif 
ferent  arrangement  after  all !  You  're  quite  right, 
Natalie.  Your  money  is  far  safer  as  it  is.  Good 
securities,  gilt-edged  !  You  risk  nothing." 

She  ignored  him,  perhaps  from  habit.  It  had  be 
come  so  much  the  family  custom  to  leave  out  Brice 
that  it  was  difficult  now  to  act  upon  any  other  ground. 

"  So  I  want  to  propose  something  else,"  she  said. 
"  It  must  be  between  you  and  me.  Why  not  buy  out 
Fiske  and  Bailey,  and  combine  their  trade  with  yours?" 

Mannering  looked  at  her  with  mouth  half  open. 
Natalie  seemed  to  be  bent  on  sowing  pearls.  She 
threw  them  broadcast.  If  one  man  would  not  pick 
them  up,  she  sought  another. 

"  I  mean,"  said  she,  "  that  you  and  Dick  might  go 
into  partnership.  I  would  furnish  the  money  he  on 
his  side  ought  to  put  in.  The  proposal  to  him  must 
come  from  you.  I  must  be  left  out  of  it  altogether. 
I  suppose  I  could  be  paid  interest  on  my  money.  That 
would  be  enough  for  me  to  live  on." 

Mannering  still  stared  vacuously. 

"  Cousin  Brice,"  said  Natalie,  as  if  she  shook  him, 
"  cousin  Brice,  don't  you  understand  me  ?  " 

"  You  want  me  to  buy  out  Fiske  and  Bailey,"  he 
repeated,  as  if  it  were  a  lesson.  "  You  want  me  to 
take  Dick  into  partnership." 


216  THE  MANNERINGS 

Natalie  leaned  toward  him,  all  hot  eagerness. 

"  I  want  you  two  together  to  build  up  a  big  busi 
ness.  Dick  can  do  great  things.  He  can  manage 
men.  He  's  hand  in  glove  with  the  press.  You  've 
said  so.  I  heard  you  telling  cousin  Katharine  so  the 
other  night.  You  said  he  had  been  worth  thousands 
in  pushing  '  Hearts  Inspired.' ': 

Mannering  nodded. 

"  He  's  got  some  go,'?  he  owned,  with  tardy  appre 
ciation.  For  the  moment,  it  seemed  to  him,  she  was 
forgetting  his  own  share  in  "  Hearts  Inspired." 

"  You  could  do  splendid  things  with  a  bigger  busi 
ness,"  said  Natalie,  bent,  in  general  terms,  on  pour 
ing  her  spirit  into  his.  She  was  chiefly  concerned  in 
expressing  herself  clearly.  Intensity  of  purpose  had 
to  serve  her  in  the  place  of  skill.  "  You  would  have 
all  the  Fiske  and  Bailey  books.  Dick  says  they  did 
some  clever  things;  some  foolish  ones,  too.  He  knows 
their  mistakes.  He  would  n't  repeat  them.  Cousin 
Brice,  don't  you  see  what  I  mean  ?  " 

"  I  see  what  you  mean,"  said  Mannering  slowly. 

He  needed  to  think  it  over.  For  his  own  part, 
he  cared  very  little  about  extending  his  connection. 
What  he  really  wished,  as  he  had  honestly  told 
Katharine,  was  to  go  abroad  with  his  father.  But 
Natalie,  first  with  her  disconcerting  demand  for  her 
own  and  then  this  new  proposal,  seemed  to  make  some 
thing  complex  out  of  a  simple  situation.  Manner 
ing,  in  his  business  ventures,  always  wanted  a  margin 
for  carelessness.  He  needed  enough  money  to  be 
able  to  say  "  Never  mind !  "  when  slovenly  bookkeep 
ing  landed  him  in  error.  The  methods  of  men  who 
knew  where  ten  cents  might  be  lurking  were  as  myste- 


A  GIFT   REFUSED  217 

rious  to  him  as  the  remarkable  exactitude  of  the  stars 
in  their  courses,  or  nature's  precision  in  numbering 
the  petals  of  her  flowers.  He  would  have  liked,  when 
the  moment  came  for  shutting  up  shop  and  taking  his 
father  away,  to  draw  out  the  solid  sum  they  were 
likely  to  require,  and  to  leave  loose  ends  flying  all 
abroad.  Business  would  hare  served  its  turn.  And 
this  slackness  of  detail  existed  in  him,  by  some  para 
dox,  side  by  side  with  a  routine  methodical  enough  to 
have  roused  his  wife  to  frenzy. 

"  Cousin  Brice,"  said  Natalie  again,  "  don't  you  un 
derstand  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  he,  rousing  himself.  "  You  want 
me  to  negotiate  with  Fiske  and  Bailey." 

"  I  want  you  to  do  that  and  do  it  now." 

"  You  want  it  kept  from  Dick." 

"  Yes,  until  it  is  concluded.  Then  propose  the  part 
nership.  If  he  's  away,  telegraph  him." 

"  Very  well,  Natalie,  very  well !  I  dare  say  it  can 
be  managed." 

"  It  must  be  managed,"  she  said  hotly.  "  "We  can 
talk  about  details  later.  And,  don't  bring  me  into  it, 
at  all.  I  'm  not  to  appear.  You  promise  that." 

"  Very  well,  Natalie,  very  well !  "  For  a  moment 
he  did  wonder  confusedly  about  her  motives  ;  but  that 
only  complicated  the  situation,  and  he  gave  it  up. 


XXII 

LEVTNSKI 

LORRAINE  was,  as  Richard  had  seen,  uneasy.  Her 
spirits  did  not  fail  her,  but  they  were  subject  to  mer 
curial  change.  She  had  vitality  to  waste.  It  hur 
ried  her  here  and  there  :  she  seemed  to  be  running 
away  from  thought.  No  trouble  ever  moved  her  face, 
and  she  took  as  childlike  an  interest  in  life  ;  but  Nata 
lie,  too,  saw  that  her  mind  was  elsewhere.  One  day, 
Madam  Walsingham,  who  apparently  noted  nothing, 
said  to  Natalie,  as  they  sat  together  in  the  old  lady's 
room,  taking  a  cup  of  tea,  - 

"  We  shall  be  going  soon." 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  go,"  said  Natalie.  There  was 
emphasis  in  the  phrase,  but  clearly  it  did  not  include 
Lorraine. 

"  She  is  beginning  to  miss  that  brute,  Levinski," 
said  Madam  Walsingham,  pouring  herself  a  second 
cup. 

"  Lorraine  ?  " 

"  Yes.  She  misses  him.  He  is  the  only  one  she 
ever  found  stronger  than  herself  in  the  ways  she  un 
derstands.  She  '11  end  by  marrying  him." 

Natalie  looked  up,  with  a  face  suddenly  ablaze. 

"  Marry  him,"  she  repeated,  in  a  wondering  dull 
ness.  "  Levinski !  " 

"  Yes.     When  he  gets  ready  to  ask  her.     I  believe 


LEVINSKI  219 

his  brother  has  got  to  die  first.  But  she  '11  marry 
him." 

No  way  of  sudden  relief  had  occurred  to  Natalie, 
and  her  first  thought  flew  to  Dick.  Would  this  un 
settle  his  life  again  ?  Immediately  she  returned  to  her 
maternal  broodings  over  him  and  reflected  that  it  was 
late  now  for  him  to  be  wrecked.  His  tempests  of 
passion  ought  to  be  over.  He  must  work.  Madam 
Walsingham  set  down  her  cup,  and  pushed  her  chair 
back  from  the  table.  She  was  comforted  by  her  tea, 
and  the  serenity  of  the  house  enveloped  her  delight 
fully. 

"  Levinski,"  she  began,  with  the  air  of  unfolding  an 
interesting  topic,  "  is  pure  brute.  He  's  not  bad,  he 's 
not  cruel  nor  treacherous  —  he 's  simply  a  brute. 
Nor  dirty.  He  's  clean  enough,  like  the  animals,  but 
he  never  troubled  his  head  in  his  life  about  what  we 
call  moral  distinctions.  He  never  will.  He  fasci 
nates  Lorraine."  Natalie  looked  at  her  grandmother, 
hungry-eyed,  and  besought  her  by  her  silence  to  go 
on.  "  Lorraine  simply  wants  what  she  wants,"  said 
Madam  Walsingham.  "  She  never  sees  a  reason  for 
not  having  it.  And  Levinski  wants  what  he  wants  ; 
only  he  wants  it  a  million  times  more  than  Lorraine 
ever  could,  because  he  's  got  more  brain  and  blood  and 
brawn.  She  feels  that.  He  's  her  master,  and  she 
knows  it." 

"  Will  she  be  unhappy  ?  "  Natalie  at  that  moment 
felt  her  first  compunction  for  Lorraine.  She  had 
never  thought  the  girl  could  suffer,  or  that  life  would 
have  the  heart  to  trouble  one  so  slight.  Now  Lor 
raine  seemed  human,  like  the  rest,  and  open  to  the 
chances  of  mortality. 


220  THE  MANNERINGS 

"  Bless  you,  no!  1  le  won't  make  her  suffer.  He  's 
the  stronger.  So  he'll  always  make  her  do  what  he 
wants,  and  he'll  like  her  very  niueli.  She  won't  suffer. 
If  she  did,  she'd  got  up  and  go  away.  Don't  fret 
yourself  about  that." 

"  If  she  should  marry  him,  grannie,  you  would  n't 
want  to  be  with  them.  AVould  n't  you  come  to  us?" 
Natalie  spoke  timidly.  \V  hen  any  personal  question 
was  implied,  she  was  afraid  of  the  old  lady.  Madam 
Walsingham  was  aeeustomed  to  that  reserve.  She 
lured  on  her  few  favorites  through  a  guileless  inti 
macy  of  speech ;  but  if  one  infringed  upon  her  bor 
ders,  she  seemed  to  go  into  the  next  county.  There 
were  always,  in  her  territory,  large  spaces  for  with 
drawal.  But  this  time  she  stayed  on  the  spot,  meet 
ing  the  advance  quite  cordially. 

"  I  shan't  mind  him,"  she  replied.  "  He  admires 
me.  He  thinks  I  am  his  superior.  So  he  rules  Lor 
raine  and  I  rule  him.  No,  I  shall  rather  like  to  trail 
round  after  them  on  their  wild  goose  chases.'' 

That  night  Lorraine  disclosed  the  point  whither  her 
thoughts  had  tended.  She  came  to  Madam  AValsing- 
ham  smiling  in  the  fashion  that,  as  the  old  lady  knew, 
meant  a  coming  or  a  present  triumph. 

"Well,"  said  Madam  Walsingham,  "  what  is  it?" 

44  What's  what,  grannie?"  Lorraine  sat  down  on 
the  floor  and  put  her  arms  about  her  grandmother's 
knees.  She  looked  up  over  them,  her  face  a  garden 
\vhere  the  loves  and  graces  were  all  frolicking.  Nat 
alie  glanced  at  her  across  the  room  ami  felt  old.  Vet 
Lorraine  was  older  than  she  ;  but  because  she  loved 
the  earth  only  and  not  the  unknown  planets,  the  earth 
was  good  to  her. 


LEVINSKI  221 

u  Up  with  you,"  said  Madam  Walsingham,  "ami 
tell  us  how  you've  got  your  way.  What  have  you 
triumphed  over?  Who's  been  slaving  for  you  ?  You 
need  n't  pose  before  me.  I  saw  you  when  you  were; 
an  hour  old,  and  a  puekery  tiling  you  were.  I  know 
your  arts  by  heart.  If  L  were  fifty  years  to  the  good, 
I  could  play  them  off  myself." 

Lorraine  did  not  get  up.  Instead,  she  put  her  face 
down  upon  the  old  lady's  knee,  and  laughed  silently. 
Abuse  made  a  part  of  her  triumph.  But  Madam 
Walsingham  took  up  her  book  from  the  table  at  her 
side,  and  began  reading  it. 

"  Grannie,"  said  Lorraine  softly,  "  how  soon  eould 
you  be  ready  to  go?  " 

"Go  where?"  asked  Madam  Walsingham,  without 
looking  off  her  page. 

44  To  Canada.  My  dates  arc  made.  We  begin  in 
Toronto." 

"We?" 

44  Dick  and  I." 

44 1  Tow  have  you  got  engagements  ?  " 

44  We  haven't.  We've  hired  halls.  We've  ad 
vertised.  1  've  printed  my  letter  from  the  prince.  It 
cost  outrageously." 

Madam  Walsingham  closed  her  book  and  laid  it 
aside  again.  ^ 

44  When  have  you  decided  to  go?"  she  asked  dryly. 

44  Day  after  to-morrow,"  said  Lorraine,  in  her  soft 
est  tone. 

"  What  train  ?  " 

44  We  leave  here  at  eight  forty-three.  Dick,  is  it 
eight  forty-three  ?  " 

He  had  come  into  the  room,  and  stood  near  Natalie, 


222  THE  MANNERINGS 

looking  down  at  her  and  wondering  why  she  was  so 
pale. 

"  Eight  forty-three,"  he  said,  recalling  himself,  and 
turning  to  Lorraine.  He  was  perceptibly  older,  in  this 
one  week.  His  face  had  fallen  into  lines  that  marred 
the  look  of  youth. 

"  So  she  has  persuaded  you  into  her  fool's  errand?  " 
said  Madam  Walsingham  cheerfully,  to  him. 

"  Fool's  errand !  "  repeated  Lorraine.  "  Don't  I 
dance  divinely,  grannie  ?  " 

"  You  dance  divinely,"  said  the  old  lady,  and  got 
up  to  leave  the  room.  "  I  '11  go  and  look  over  my 
petticoats,  and  pack  to-morrow." 

The  three  were  left  alone,  and  Natalie  sat  looking 
at  Lorraine  with  speculation  in  her  glance.  It  oc 
curred  to  her  for  the  first  time  that  there  must  be 
something  hideous  in  this  fact  that  two  sisters  had  no 
natural  affection  for  each  other.  She  wondered,  as 
she  had  sometimes  of  late,  what  people  would  say  if 
she  followed  the  mad  instincts  that  beset  her.  What 
if  she  began  with  her  engagement  to  Dick,  and  told 
him  that  since  the  first  two  years,  it  had  been  a  mar 
tyrdom,  borne  only  because  she  adored  him  ?  What 
if  she  told  Lorraine,  "  I  am  not  able  to  keep  from 
hating  you  "  ?  And  then  she  said  aloud,  without  pre 
meditation,  "  Perhaps  it  is  n't  hatred." 

"  What  is  it,  Natalie  ?  "  asked  Lorraine.  She  had 
put  her  arms  on  Madam  Walsingham's  chair  when 
the  old  lady  left  it,  and  leaned  there  yawning.  She 
opened  her  mouth  in  a  frank  abandonment ;  and  be 
cause  she  had  beauty  and  great  simplicity  she  looked 
delightful  in  the  doing.  Dick  had  heard  the  words, 
and  turned  upon  Natalie,  startled. 


LEVINSKI  223 

But  confused  by  her  musings,  she  answered  hastily, 
"  I  don't  know." 

Lorraine  came  to  her  feet,  and,  finding  a  chair,  said 
affectionately,  "  Dear  Natalie  !  " 

The  endearment  was  a  pin-prick  none  the  less  keen 
because  it  came  every  day  and  many  times  a  day. 
From  some  impulse  she  could  not  herself  define,  Nat 
alie  responded,  "  What  is  Levinski  like  ?  " 

Lorraine  started,  all  over  her  body. 

"  Levinski  ?  "  she  trembled.     "  Levinski  ?  " 

Dick  turned  on  his  heel,  and  left  the  room.  In  a 
moment  Natalie  heard  him  across  the  hall,  laughing 
with  Mannering.  It  sounded  unconcerned,  but  she 
made  no  doubt  that  jealousy  had  sent  him  away  at 
mention  of  Levinski's  name.  Lorraine  repeated  it 
again,  with  not  much  more  assurance. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  Levinski  ?  "  she  de 
manded. 

"  I  asked  what  he  was  like,"  said  Natalie.  "  I  don't 
know  why  I  asked." 

Lorraine  pulled  at  the  long  chain  about  her  neck, 
and  tugged  a  locket  from  her  bosom.  She  opened 
it,  with  a  quick  glance  toward  the  door,  and  turned 
the  face  toward  Natalie. 

"  That 's  Levinski,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  where 
pride  and  bravado  mingled.  It  was  a  dark  face,  full 
of  a  rude  strength  and  power.  In  the  other  side  of 
the  locket  was  a  curl  of  coarse  black  hair.  Lorraine 
snapped  the  locket,  and  put  it  back  in  its  warm  rest 
ing  place.  "  That 's  Levinski,"  she  repeated,  in  a  tone 
that  was  now  all  pride.  "  What  do  you  think  of 
him  ?  " 

"  Is  he  in  New  York  ?  "  pursued  Natalie,  ignoring 


224  THE   MANNERINGS 

the  question.  What  she  might  have  thought  of  him 
unaided,  she  did  not  know.  Now  Madam  Walsing- 
ham's  sketch  of  him  was  fulfilled  ;  the  swarthy  face 
confirmed  it. 

"He  is  playing  there,"  said  Lorraine.  A  brief 
shade  passed  over  her.  "  He  was  to  play  for  me,  but 
he  has  the  chance  to  give  some  chamber  concerts  in 
New  York.  That 's  better.  That 's  what  he  ought 
to  do.  I  must  prove  myself.  I  must  get  some  little 
shade  of  reputation.  Then  he  will  be  glad  to  play 
for  me."  There  was  a  self-forgetful  yearning  in  her 
tone.  She  ceased  for  the  moment  to  be  the  Lorraine 
who  called  out  emotion  and  then  looked  on  it,  clear- 
eyed  and  even  mirthful. 

Natalie  was  moved  and  eager. 

"  Do  you  like  him,  Lorraine  ?  "  she  asked  irrepres- 
sibly.  Suddenly  there  seemed  the  kinship  of  warm 
feeling  between  them,  and  she  felt  the  glow  of  it.  But 
Lorraine  laughed  lightly,  prettily. 

"  Of  course  I  like  him,"  she  said.    "  Enormously  !  " 

"  You  never  say  4  Dear  Levinski ! ' : 

"  Don't  I  ?  Then  I  will  now.  4  Dear  Levinski ! '  " 
But  the  words  were  a  caress. 

They  sat  in  silence  for  a  moment,  Natalie's  mind 
running  on  a  new  track.  Suddenly  she  spoke  again, 
now  with  an  imperative  questioning. 

"How  long  is  it  going  to  take  you  to  build  up 
reputation  enough  to  satisfy  him  ?  " 

"  Bless  you,  child,  I  don't  know."  Lorraine  was 
her  well-poised,  normal  self  again.  She  played  with 
her  chain  and  regarded  her  pretty  foot  lovingly. 

"  Why  don't  you  go  to  New  York  and  dance  ? 
Then  he  might  play  for  you." 


LEVINSKI  225 

A  spark  came  into  Lorraine's  eyes,  but  she  spoke 
coolly. 

"  He  will  find  me  where  I  am,"  she  said.  "  I  shall 
not  go  to  him." 

Gilbert  Home  came  in,  reddened  from  the  wind, 
and  gave  Natalie  a  bundle  of  letters  from  the  mail. 
She  looked  them  over,  and  passed  one  to  Lorraine. 
Then  she  went  into  the  next  room  in  quest  of  Man- 
nering,  and  Gilbert  followed  her.  He  looked  about 
him  discontentedly. 

"  Where  is  Miss  Thayer  ?  "  he  asked  Natalie. 

"  Upstairs.  I  think  she  '11  be  down  presently  with 
cousin  Kate." 

He  took  off  his  coat  at  that,  and  settled  himself 
where  Mannering  and  Dick  were  plunged  in  further 
plans  for  "  Hearts  Inspired."  Natalie  went  back  to 
the  living  room.  Lorraine  was  sitting  where  she  left 
her,  a  letter  open  in  her  hand.  A  new  look  was  on 
her  face.  It  was  stiffened  into  resistance  of  unwel 
come  news,  and  pallor  had  succeeded  to  its  lovely  rose. 
She  struck  the  sheet  dramatically  with  one  palm. 

"  He  has  gone,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  unmindful  of 
its  intonations.  "  He  sailed  to-day." 

"  He  ?  " 

"  Levinski.   He  is  summoned.   He  has  gone  home." 

"  Will  he  come  back  ?  " 

Lorraine  seemed  to  dilate  with  some  emotion.  It 
looked  like  pride. 

"  He  will  come  back,"  she  said,  in  a  muffled  voice. 
"  I  shall  not  follow  him."  She  walked  across  the  room 
and  back  again.  "  There  is  an  elder  brother,"  she 
added  in  a  grudging  haste,  as  if  the  explanation  were 
due,  although  she  had  no  heart  to  give  it.  "  He  is 


226  THE  MANNERINGS 

ill.  He  has  been  ill  for  a  long  time.  He  wants 
Levinski  to  marry  in  his  own  country.  He  has  sum 
moned  him.  Bela  has  gone  back."  Now  there  was 
softness  in  her  voice,  and  her  face  had  taken  on  its 
youthful  calm.  Pride  was  there,  and  confidence. 
Natalie  wondered  afterwards  whether  this  were  belief 
in  herself  or  in  the  man  who  had  been  summoned 
home.  Lorraine  turned  upon  her  in  a  passion  Nat 
alie  had  never  suspected  under  that  gay  demeanor. 
"  Don't  you  see,"  she  said,  "  I  must  n't  fail  ?  I  must 
make  him  proud  of  me.  When  he  comes  back,  he 
must  find  me  adored  by  every  city  in  this  country,  my 
name  on  every  lip.  I  must  fight  it  out  this  winter 
here,  in  New  York,  everywhere.  I  must  dance." 

"  Who  will  help  you  ?  "  Natalie  asked  the  ques 
tion  with  a  quick  forecast  of  the  answer. 

"  Who  will  help  me  ?  " 

"  Who  will  play  for  you  until  Levinski  comes  ?  " 

«  Play  for  me  ?     Dick.     Why,  Dick  !  " 

"  All  this  winter,  all  the  spring>  all  next  year,  if 
you  must  ?  Is  that  what  you  mean  ?  " 

Lorraine  smiled  at  her.     She  looked  invincible. 

"  I  shan't  stop  fighting,"  said  she. 

"  Does  Dick  know  about  Levinski  ?  " 

"  What  about  him  ?  " 

"  Does  he  know  he  is  to  carry  out  this  move,  and 
then  retire  in  favor  of  Levinski  ?  " 

Lorraine  laughed  in  pure  mirthfulness  that  be 
trayed  no  undercurrent. 

"  How  you  do  put  things,  Natalie,"  she  said. 

"  You  never  cared  for  him,  Lorraine,  never  !  "  re 
turned  Natalie,  in  a  strange  bitterness  of  jealousy  for 
the  man  she  loved.  She  would  have  had  the  woman 


LEVINSKI  227 

love  him  and  yet  not  love  him.  She  longed  to  see 
them  separated ;  but  Lorraine  dealt  her  pride  a  deadly 
blow  in  using  him  so  lightly. 

"  Cared  ?  "  said  Lorraine  with  sweet,  wide  eyes. 
"  For  whom  ?  "  But  Natalie  was  ashamed,  and  would 
not  answer.  Lorraine  knew,  and  answered  for  her. 
"  Dear  old  Dick  !  There  's  nobody  like  Dick." 

She  began  singing  a  little  French  song  about  love 
denied,  and  sauntered  into  the  next  room  with  it  on  her 
lips.  Hers  was  a  speaking  voice,  not  a  singing  one, 
but  she  put  dramatic  vigor  into  it,  and  made  it  thrill 
ing.  Dick,  still  over  computations  with  Mannering, 
joined  her  in  an  absent  undertone,  and  Natalie  heard 
the  two  voices  helping  each  other  and  harmonizing. 
Then  Lorraine,  still  singing,  called  him  softly,  and  he 
went  to  the  piano,  Gilbert  slowly  following.  Natalie 
waited  until  the  dance  music  had  begun,  and  then  stole 
in  to  Mannering. 

"  Cousin  Brice,"  she  said,  in  a  low  tone,  "  what  have 
you  done  ?  " 

Mannering  gathered  up  his  papers  from  the  table 
and  spoke  cheerfully,  with  the  air  of  a  superior  to  one 
who  has  small  right  to  question  him. 

"Things  are  going  swimmingly,  Natalie,  swim 
mingly." 

"  Have  you  talked  to  him  —  Richard  ?  Have  you 
made  him  the  offer  ?  " 

"  Not  yet.     I  'm  fixing  Fiske  and  Bailey." 

"  What  do  they  say  ?  " 

In  her  impatience  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  buying 
out  a  business  were  as  simple  as  bargaining  over  a 
counter. 

"  Now,   now,    Natalie,"   said    Brice    reproachfully, 


228  THE  MANNERINGS 

"  have  n't  I  reminded  you  Rome  was  n't  built  in  a 
day?" 

"  Dick  is  going  away  day  after  to-morrow." 

"  So  much  the  better.  I  can  take  my  own  course. 
Then  we  can  spring  it  on  him." 

"  He  may  be  gone  for  months." 

"  We  will  wire  him." 

Natalie  came  and  leaned  her  hand  on  the  table 
beside  him.  Gilbert  Home  looked  at  her,  and  won 
dered  what  she  could  be  saying  to  give  her  face  that 
tragic  force. 

"  Cousin  Brice,"  she  said,  "  you  must  not  delay. 
You  must  act.  I  tell  you  we  must  act!  " 


XXIII 

THE    GHOST    OF   A    BRIDE 

THAT  night  Dick  went  away  early,  because  he  had 
affairs  in  town  before  his  coming  journey.  He  looked 
preoccupied,  and  the  smile  came  but  briefly  to  his  face 
when  Lorraine  bade  him  remember  that  they  were  on 
the  road  to  fame.  He  walked  over  to  Natalie  where 
she  sat  by  Captain  Mannering,  pretending  to  listen 
while  he  talked,  and  hearing  nothing.  Dick  stood  a 
moment  before  her,  looking  down  at  her  and  pulling 
on  his  glove  with  an  absent  air.  He  was  regarding  her 
seriously,  kindly,  and  Natalie  brought  herself  to  meet 
his  eyes.  She  was  afraid  of  the  betrayal  in  her  own, 
but  a  moment  calmed  her.  He  found  nothing  there. 

"  I  shall  see  you  again,"  he  said  abruptly. 

"  To-morrow  ?  " 

"  Some  time  to-morrow.  Not  very  early.  I  shall 
have  a  lot  to  do." 

She  nodded  in  her  old  way,  but  she  did  not  move. 
He  turned  and  left  her.  In  the  hall,  with  his  hand 
on  the  door,  he  waited,  tempted  to  call  her  out  to 
him ;  but  the  moment  passed,  and  he  went  away. 
There  was  nothing  to  say  to  her.  He  knew  he  should 
see  her  to-morrow,  and  meantime  Natalie  would  under 
stand.  That  was  the  certainty  on  which  their  bond 
was  built. 

The  next  day  there  was  great  haste  in  the  house. 


230  THE  MANNERINGS 

Natalie  worked  hard  packing  for  Madam  Walsing- 
ham  and  running  about  with  an  unwonted  eagerness 
when  Lorraine  wanted  help.  She  had  to  occupy  the 
day ;  it  was  no  longer  possible  to  eat  up  time  in  idle 
ness.  Lorraine  went  buoyantly  about  her  prepara 
tions.  Her  face  was  untouched  by  the  sadness  pro 
phesied  by  yesterday,  or  the  premonition  that  life 
would  ever  be  different  from  what  it  had  been.  When 
Madam  Walsingham  and  Natalie  had  folded  the  last 
garment  and  laid  it  in  its  tray,  Lorraine's  voice  from 
the  next  room  was  rising  in  a  martial  song.  Madam 
Walsingham  touched  Natalie  on  the  arm,  and  mo 
tioned  her  to  silence.  The  old  lady  had  a  curious 
smile  upon  her  face. 

"Listen  !"  she  said,  "Levinski  has  gone  to  Europe. 
He  may  never  come  back.  But  listen  to  her !  " 

Natalie  sat  down  on  a  stool  in  weariness,  and  Ma 
dam  Walsingham  moved  about  the  room  picking  up 
trifles  and  putting  them  into  discreet  and  clever  little 
boxes  where  they  were  wont  to  travel.  She  looked 
pleasantly  absorbed,  but  the  smile  lingered  on  her 
lips,  and  Natalie  knew  she  was  still  thinking  of  Lor 
raine.  Natalie  was  too  deadened  to  the  impressions 
of  the  moment  to  answer  her. 

"  Grannie,"  she  said,  "  shall  you  come  back  ?  " 

The  old  lady  gave  one  comprehensive  glance  about 
the  room,  and,  satisfied  that  her  work  was  over,  re 
turned  to  the  window,  and  sat  down.  She  took  a  fan 
from  the  table  and  held  it  between  her  and  the  light. 
The  lace  fell  away  from  her  wrist  and  showed  how 
thin  it  was.  The  evening  light  had  been  kinder  to  her, 
and  Natalie  suddenly  realized  that  she  was  very  old. 

"  No,"  said  Madam  Walsingham,  "  I   shan't  come 


THE   GHOST  OF  A   BRIDE  231 

back.  I  really  can't  live  very  long.  It  is  n't  in  na 
ture.  And  I  have  an  impression  that  I  shall  die 
abroad." 

"  I  wish  you  would  come  back." 

The  old  lady  looked  at  her  in  a  kindly  searching, 
and  again  she  pointed  toward  the  other  room. 

"  Listen,"  she  said.  "  Levinski  is  farther  from  her 
every  minute  —  and  listen  to  her." 

Natalie  could  not  answer.  There  was  nothing  to 
be  said  about  these  everyday  affairs,  because  nothing 
really  mattered.  She  did  wish  Madam  Walsingham 
to  stay,  yet  she  did  not  care  so  very  much.  There 
was  no  energy  to  spend  on  anything  touching  her 
desires  alone.  The  greatest  good  that  now  could  come 
to  her,  she  had  no  strength  to  take.  She  felt  herself 
fading  out  of  the  scheme  of  things,  sinking  into  some 
void  of  nature,  leaving  these  robuster  combatants  to 
fight  out  the  game  alone.  Madam  Walsingham  was 
watching  her,  while  Natalie  looked  into  vacancy  and 
thought. 

"  You  are  not  so  strong  as  I  was,"  said  the  old 
lady.  "  I  don't  know  how  you  will  come  out  of  it." 

Natalie  roused  herself. 

"  Come  out  of  what  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  You  've  given  me  more  trouble  than  I  've  had  for 
thirty  years,"  said  Madam  Walsingham. 

Natalie  shook  aside  her  dream. 

"  Trouble,  grannie  ?     Have  I  given  you  trouble  ?  " 

"  You  are  exactly  like  what  I  was  at  your  age.  It 
is  like  seeing  a  picture  of  myself.  I  was  like  you, 
child,  only  I  was  stronger.  No,  I  shan't  come  back 
here.  I  can't  go  through  it  all  again  with  you." 

"  You  will  be  happier  with  Lorraine,"  said  Natalie, 


232  THE   MANNERINGS 

in  a  dull  acquiescence.  She  had  lost,  she  thought, 
the  trick  of  giving  pleasure.  That  Lorraine  would 
never  lack. 

"  I  shall  be  happy  enough  with  Lorraine.  Listen 
to  her,  child.  That 's  the  way." 

At  twilight  Natalie  was  laying  out  what  Dick  had 
once  called  her  wedding  gown.  It  was  a  sheer  white 
fabric,  with  embroidery  as  delicate  as  cobwebs.  She 
moved  about  slowly,  making  herself  sweet  in  a  dream, 
as  if  she  were  a  bride ;  but  it  was  not  a  happy 
dream.  It  was  only  a  remembrance  of  the  things 
that  had  been,  and  a  forecasting  of  what  might  be. 
Yet  when  she  thought  of  what  might  be,  it  was  only 
a  winter  death  and  the  covering  snow.  And  the 
only  thing  not  to  be  desired  was  that  the  snow  would 
be  so  cold.  Warm  from  her  bath  and  with  her  hair 
about  her,  as  it  had  dried  into  little  passionate  ten 
drils,  she  looked  at  herself  in  the  glass  with  an  impar 
tial  interest,  wondering  if  beauty  or  charm,  such  as 
she  had,  would  serve  her  one  night  more.  She  hoped 
lie  would  not  find  in  her  face  what  she  knew  was  in 
her  heart :  a  certainty  that  the  day  of  life  was  over 
for  her,  and  that  she  was  as  a  bride  who  had  died  be 
fore  the  wedding  night.  She  put  on  the  white  dress, 
and  went  down  to  supper. 

"  You  look  like  a  ghost,"  said  Lorraine,  throwing 
her  a  kiss  from  the  other  side  of  the  table,  "  a  lovely 
ghost.  The  ghost  of  a  bride  !  Dear  Natalie  !  " 

Dick's  place  was  laid  for  him,  but  he  had  not  come. 
As  they  rose  from  the  table,  Lorraine  slipped  her  arm 
through  Natalie's  and  drew  her  toward  the  library. 

"  Come  and  talk,  dear,"  she  said,  with  a  pretty 
insistence.  "  Come  !  " 


THE  GHOST  OF  A   BRIDE  233 

"  No  !  .  no  !  "  said  Natalie.  "  No !  "  Her  own 
voice  sounded  dreadful  to  her.  "  I  am  too  busy." 

"  Busy,  in  that  dress  ?     You  '11  ruin  it." 

Natalie  hurried  away  upstairs,  and  in  the  dark  of 
her  chamber  watched  for  him  to  come.  One  of  her 
windows  faced  the  front,  and  the  other  overlooked  the 
orchard.  She  walked  softly  from  one  to  the  other, 
because  he  might  appear  either  from  Gilbert's  or  the 
train  ;  but  there  was  no  sound  either  of  step  or  open 
ing  door,  and  the  dark  baffled  her.  At  eight  o'clock, 
she  went  downstairs  again,  just  as  Gilbert  Home 
stepped  in. 

"  Is  n't  Dick  coming  down  ?  "  she  heard  him  ask 
Lorraine. 

"  No,  Mr.  Home.     He  telephoned  me." 

"  Why  is  n't  he  coming  ?  " 

"  He  is  too  busy.  He  meets  us  at  the  train  in 
town." 

Natalie  went  in  and  stood  warming  her  hands  at 
the  fire,  looking  at  Lorraine.  The  look  was  so  steady 
and  so  strange  that  Lorraine  met  it,  at  last,  with  one 
of  inquiry,  though  she  was  telling  Katharine  a  story 
of  love  gone  wrong. 

"  What  is  it,  Natalie  ?  "  she  broke  off  to  ask. 

"  Nothing,"  said  Natalie. 

"  Did  you  ask  me  something  ?  " 

"  No,  I  did  n't  ask  you  anything." 

She  wanted  to  add,  "  No,  I  asked  you  nothing ; 
but  I  want  to  ask  you  something.  Why  did  he  send 
to  you  ?  W^hy  not  to  me  ?  Could  n't  he  have  come 
out,  for  old  love's  sake,  to  say  good-by  ?  Let  us  talk 
about  it.  Let  us  reason  together.  Why  is  love  so 
unloving,  and  pleasure  so  unkind  ?  "  But  if  it  had 


234  THE  MANNERINGS 

been  possible  to  drag  truth  from  behind  the  screen 
where  she  lies  decently  concealed,  she  knew  Lorraine's 
answer.  Lorraine  would  have  thought  no  worse  of 
her  for  that  intemperance.  She  would  have  said, 
"  Dear  Natalie  !  " 

The  story  continued,  and  Natalie  went  out  of  the 
room ;  but  halfway  up  the  stairs  Lorraine's  voice 
arrested  her. 

"  So  she  went  mad  and  he  shot  himself." 

"  I  knew  them,"  said  Elinor.  Her  voice  vibrated. 
It  had  a  sound  of  championship,  as  if  she  spoke  un 
willingly  and  yet  must  add  her  word.  "  She  thought 
he  did  n't  love  her." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Lorraine,  in  a  sweet  impar 
tiality.  "  He  shot  himself." 

"  She  thought  he  did  n't  love  her  !  "  repeated  Ma 
dam  Walsingham.  She  struck  her  hand  upon  her 
open  palm,  in  a  fierce  commentary.  "  I  knew  her, 
too.  She  tied  herself  up  into  knots  expecting  things 
no  man  can  give." 

"  What  things  ?  "  asked  Katharine. 

"  Daily  sentiment,  hourly  twaddle !  Bless  the 
woman !  he  did  n't  even  know  she  wanted  them. 
When  he  married  her,  he  supposed,  like  other  men, 
he  'd  clinched  his  bargain.  But  no !  he  found  there 
was  a  tax  on  goods  he  thought  he  owned.  Well,  he 
paid  his  scot.  He  shot  himself." 

"  It  was  terrible,"  said  Elinor.  "  She  was  an  un 
happy  woman." 

"  How  long  is  this  going  to  last  ?  "  asked  Madam 
Walsingham,  turning  suddenly  upon  Katharine. 

"  What,  Madam  Walsingham  ?  " 

"  This  warfare  between  men  and  women,  this  living 


THE  GHOST  OF  A  BRIDE  235 

in  separate  houses  of  life  and  eating  different  bread. 
How  long  is  it  going  to  last  ?  " 

Katharine  did  not  answer,  but  her  face  spoke  for 
her.  She  clasped  her  hands  on  her  knees,  and  waited. 

"  They  must  not  exact  things,"  said  Elinor.  "  They 
must  prefer  each  other." 

"  Stuff  and  nonsense  !  "  said  the  old  lady.  "  Women 
have  got  to  be  sane.  They  have  got  to  accept  life  as 
it  is.  Marriage  is  n't  an  examination  paper  on  psy 
chology.  And  for  the  men  —  do  you  know  what 
they  've  got  to  have  ?  Courage." 

u  Courage  !  "  repeated  Katharine  involuntarily. 

"  Courage,  will,  strength,  power  !  The  most  senti 
mental  of  you  adore  a  man  if  he  's  got  those.  You  '11 
choose  his  way,  and  like  it  better  than  your  own." 

Natalie  had  not  stayed  to  hear  it  all.  Talk  of  that 
sort  struck  her  as  very  futile.  She  could  not  formulate. 
She  only  wished  Dick  had  come  home.  But  she  took 
off  her  white  dress  and  laid  it  carefully  away,  and 
when  she  got  into  bed,  couched  there  with  folded 
hands,  tired  and  not  hopeful  of  any  rest.  Lorraine 
came  to  her  door,  at  ten,  but  she  did  not  answer,  and 
later  she  heard  Lorraine  call  to  her  grandmother  that 
dear  Natalie  was  asleep.  She  lay  in  a  strange  quies 
cence,  in  a  way  not  conscious  of  her  body,  though 
there  moved  in  her  without  ceasing  that  pain  we  know 
as  heartache.  Chiefly  she  was  thankful  that  so  great  a 
disappointment  had  passed  without  wrecking  her  com 
pletely.  Toward  morning  she  slept,  and  it  was  day 
light  when  Lorraine  summoned  her,  outside  the  door. 

"  Come  and  say  good-by  !  " 

She  struggled  out  of  her  lethargy. 

"Is  it  time?"  she  asked. 


236  THE   MANNERINGS 

"  Almost  time.     We  're  going  in  twenty  minutes." 

She  began  dressing  with  numb  fingers,  in  no  great 
haste  because  it  seemed  unimportant  whether  she  were 
there  or  not.  Grannie,  she  knew,  hated  farewells 
among  other  superfluities,  and  Lorraine,  if  she  ever 
remembered  the  lack  of  them,  would  only  say,  "  Dear 
Natalie  !  "  But  in  a  moment  Elinor  was  at  the  door. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  called  Natalie,  without  opening  to 
her. 

"  Mr.  Home  has  come  —  Mr.  Richard.  He  wants 
to  say  good-by  to  you." 

Things  had  gone  far  when  his  name  awoke  no  flood 
ing  courage  in  her.  She  thanked  Elinor,  and  went 
back  to  her  glass.  She  was  in  gray,  a  dress  bought 
through  some  odd  impulse  and  now,  by  one  as  foolish, 
selected  for  the  moment's  irony.  Her  face  matched  it. 

"  I  am  hideous,"  she  said  to  herself,  and  then  sat 
down  by  the  window  looking  out  at  the  waiting  sleigh. 
Katharine  was  on  the  front  seat,  already  rubbing  her 
cheeks  from  the  sting  of  cold. 

"  It  does  n't  matter,"  said  Natalie  aloud,  and  began 
picking  the  fringe  of  the  table  cover  where  use  had 
tangled  it. 

She  heard  Dick's  voice  outside  the  door.  "  Natalie ! 
Come  out  and  say  good-by !  " 

"  I  can't  come  out,"  she  answered  sweetly.  "  Good- 
by  !  Good  luck!" 

"  Are  n't  you  dressed  yet  ?  Why  are  n't  you 
dressed?" 

"  Good-by,  Dick,"  she  said  again.     "  Good-by." 

She  heard  them  call  him  from  below,  and  he  went 
running  down  the  stairs.  Then  she  turned  away  from 
the  window ;  but  she  heard  the  voices  and  the  bells. 


XXIV 

HUNTED   INTO  CORNERS 

WHEN  Katharine  came  back  from  the  station  she 
was  tingling  with  cold,  and  more  than  that,  with  life. 
On  the  way  upstairs  she  saw  Natalie  lingering  at  the 
doorway  of  her  own  old  room  with  the  dull  look  of 
one  who  ought  to  be  interested  in  it  and  is  so  no  more. 
Suddenly  Katharine  realized  that  Natalie  also  must 
be  reckoned  with;  there  were  changes  coming,  and 
she  must  know.  She  took  Natalie's  hand  and  drew 
her  inside  the  room  left  barren  by  Madam  Walsing- 
ham's  going.  There  in  the  light  she  paused  a  moment, 
noting  the  subdued  quiet  of  the  girl's  face.  Natalie 
looked  like  one  who  has  taken  on  the  patience  of  mid 
dle  age  without  its  ripening.  Katharine  laughed  a 
little. 

"  I  am  much  embarrassed,"  she  said.  "  But  I  must 
out  with  it.  Natalie,  I  'm  not  going  to  live  here  any 
longer." 

Natalie  turned  to  her  in  a  mild  surprise. 

u  Not  live  here  ?  "  she  repeated.  "  Have  you  sold 
the  place  ?  " 

Katharine  was  for  a  moment  abashed  before  a 
younger  woman  asked  to  accept  crude  facts  without 
their  subtleties.  But  she  spoke  with  an  added  dignity. 

"  I  am  going  to  leave  Brice.  We  shall  not  live 
together  any  more." 


238  THE  MANNERINGS 

"  Then  this  house  will  be  given  up?  " 

"I  don't  know.  At  any  rate  I  shan't  be  here. 
Why,  Natalie,  you  're  glad !  " 

A  look  of  relief  had  run  over  her  face  and  moved 
it  briefly.  She  was  buoyed,  for  the  moment,  on  a  wave 
too  slight  to  be  called  gladness.  Again  she  thought  it 
was  not  possible  to  take  up  her  old  life  here.  She 
might  bear  it  somewhere  else,  but  not  starvation  in 
the  cell  where  chinks  and  crannies  were  familiar. 

"  What  will  Brice  do  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  don't  know,  Natalie." 

Natalie  was  silent  a  moment  before  she  asked  rather 
timidly,  — 

"  You  don't  want  to  tell  me  where  you  are  going, 
cousin  Katharine  ?  " 

It  was  incredible  that  so  little  intimacy  should  have 
grown  up  between  them  in  these  years.  This  might 
have  been  one  stranger  interrogating  another. 

"  I  shall  be  in  town,  in  some  lodging  house.  That 's 
all  I  know."  At  that  hint  of  freedom,  Katharine 
lost  her  momentary  reserve.  She  glowed  again  with 
the  desire  of  life,  and  a  slight  reflection  of  that  aura 
passed  over  Natalie. 

u  I  could  have  a  little  room  in  town,  too,"  she  said, 
half  to  herself.  "  Cousin  Katharine,  when  are  you 
going  ?  " 

"  As  soon  as  possible." 

Natalie  rose,  and  stood  there,  playing  with  the  chain 
about  her  neck. 

"  Then  I  won't  settle  in  my  rooms  again,"  she  said. 
"  I  '11  get  my  things  in  order  and  be  ready." 

Katharine  also  went  about  new  tasks,  assorting, 
making  lists,  and  setting  aside  her  own  small  property. 


HUNTED  INTO   CORNERS  239 

Elinor  helped  her,  and  the  maids  wondered  at  such 
unseasonable  cleaning,  —  neither  spring  nor  fall.  Nat 
alie,  among  her  own  possessions,  also  worked  breath 
lessly,  uplifted  for  the  moment  by  anticipation.  She 
could  almost  fancy  she  was  going  on  a  journey.  She 
had  no  real  hope  that  the  new  life  would  be  better 
than  the  old.  Only  it  would  be  different. 

Three  days  were  over,  and  then  Brice,  coming  home 
one  night  at  eight,  found  Katharine  awaiting  him. 
He  laid  down  his  evening  paper  with  a  pathetic  re 
nunciation.  He  had  read  the  financial  column  in  the 
train,  but  the  rest  was  still  in  store  ;  no  fireside  peace 
was  possible  with  that  joy  uiitasted. 

"  Where 's  father  ?  "  he  asked,  hoping  at  least  for 
the  support  of  a  sympathetic  presence. 

"  He  has  gone  to  bed,"  said  Katharine,  closing  the 
library  door  upon  them.  "  He  was  feeling  tired." 

"  I  '11  go  up,"  said  Brice,  with  alacrity  half  for  his 
father  and  something  for  himself  in  his  undefended 
state. 

"  Not  quite  yet,  Brice.     Give  me  half  an  hour." 

"I  've  got  to  see  how  my  father  is,"  protested  Man- 
nering  fractiously. 

"  Not  yet !     Brice,  I  'm  going  to  leave  you." 

"  Oh  Lord,  Kate  !  is  this  going  on  forever  ?  I  've 
got  a  cold  on  my  chest.  Where  's  that  medicine  that 's 
got  camphor  in  it?  " 

Katharine  spoke  softly ;  unlike  her  cry  of  protest, 
this  was  the  small  voice  of  certitude. 

"  But,  Brice,  I  'm  going  to  leave  you  now!  " 

He  threw  himself  into  his  chair,  and  stretched  his 
legs  out  to  the  blaze.  He  coughed  a  little,  in  a  futile 
fashion,  with  the  unformulated  feeling  that  almost 


240  THE  MANNERINGS 

any  woman  would  be  moved  when  a  man  was  coming 
down  with  bronchitis,  or  worse. 

"Now?"  he  repeated  somewhat  satirically.  He 
wanted  to  add  that  if  it  were  now,  he  might  find  the 
library  door  unguarded,  and  go  up  to  see  his  father. 
Katharine  sat  down  and  regarded  him  as  one  dealing 
with  a  stranger  whom  she  would  fain  use  well.  All 
her  tempestuous  arguments  seemed  of  late  to  have 
become  cool  certainties.  She  looked  gentle  and  sweet, 
—  a  woman  bent  on  having  her  own  will,  but  only 
through  grave  consideration. 

"  I  think  I  can  be  out  of  the  house  in  two  weeks," 
she  said.  "  I  ought  to  tell  you  now,  so  that  you  can 
make  your  plans." 

He  came  bolt  upright,  and  stared  at  her  with 
widened  eyes. 

"  For  God's  sake,  Kate,"  he  asked  at  length,  "  where 
are  you  going  ?  " 

"  I  shall  try  to  live  in  town.  I  know  I  can  man 
age  it,  if  I  get  work.  We  shall  see." 

She  spoke  with  an  assured  determination.  He  con 
tinued  looking  at  her,  though  now  his  eyes  were  full 
of  awe  rather  than  pure  wonder.  So,  he  thought,  she 
had  gone  mad  at  last. 

"  For  the  Lord's  sake,  Kate,"  he  asked  "  what  set 
you  out  on  this  new  rig  ?  " 

They  sat  for  a  moment  regarding  each  other.  Then 
she  spoke  with  the  same  courteous  gravity. 

"  Don't  you  really  know,  Brice,  what  has  set  me 
out?" 

"  No,  I  don't,  as  I  'm  a  living  sinner.  I  've  been  a 
good  husband.  You  've  got  a  comfortable  home.  I  '11 
be  hanged  if  I  know." 


HUNTED  INTO  CORNERS  241 

Once  she  would  have  fallen  into  stormy  declama 
tion,  but  now  it  hardly  seemed  to  matter  whether  he 
understood  or  not.  She  only  felt  the  more  apart  from 
him. 

"  Don't  you  remember  I  've  been  talking  about  this 
for  the  last  ten  —  yes,  fifteen  years  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Talking !  yes,  of  course  I  do." 

"  Has  n't  it  meant  anything  to  you,  Brice  ?  " 

"  Talk  !  talk  !  "  he  muttered. 

"  I  know.  And  the  talk  never  meant  anything. 
Well,  now  it  won't  be  talk.  I  'm  going." 

He  looked  at  his  correct  shoes,  held  comfortably  to 
the  fire,  and  suddenly  roused  himself  to  face  a  moral 
exigency.  The  force  of  this  new  mood  was  great ;  he 
hurled  his  words  like  missiles. 

"  Katharine,  do  you  think  you  're  doing  right  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  Brice,"  she  said  gravely,  and  with 
the  sweetness  to  be  accorded  a  friend  who  had  a  right 
to  question  her.  "  Truly,  I  don't  know.  But  I  'm 
going." 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it." 

"  I  'in  sorry.  Because  you  '11  be  surprised  some 
day." 

"  Well,  if  you  do  lose  your  head  and  cut  off  some 
where,  what  is  to  become  of  father  ?  " 

"  He  and  you  could  board  comfortably  in  town. 
You  know  I  proposed  that." 

"  You  've  proposed  about  everything  under  the  sun, 
first  and  last,"  said  Brice  unhappily. 

"  Or,  if  you  felt  you  could  go  on  here,  you  might 
have  a  housekeeper.  But  this  is  Gilbert  Home's 
property.  We  must  never  forget  that." 

Brice  meditated  that  one  was  not  likely  to  forget 


242  THE  MANNERINGS 

anything  while  memory  still  served  her ;  but  the  habit 
of  courtesy  prevailed,  and  he  held  his  peace.  Katha 
rine,  through  long  study  of  him,  knew  some  of  the 
things  he  was  thinking,  and  now  she  sat  reflecting, 
with  a  mild  interest,  that  he  must  hate  her  exceed 
ingly.  But  Brice  never  did  anything  in  large  mea 
sure.  She  only  made  him  most  uncomfortable.  She 
rose  now,  and  presented  her  last  proposition. 

"  There  's  Natalie,  Brice.  Have  you  straightened 
out  her  affairs  ?  " 

He  sat  in  silent  protest,  staring  at  the  fire.  She 
was  distasteful  to  him,  at  that  moment ;  he  could  not 
look  at  her.  Yet  he  had  no  stored  resentments.  If 
she  had  smiled  and  promised  better  fashions,  he  could 
have  sought  his  newspaper  in  a  cheerful  zeal. 

"  Natalie,  must  be  paid,"  she  said  again.  "  I  shall 
see  to  that." 

The  frown  deepened  in  his  forehead.  It  looked 
like  the  sign  of  a  willful  and  ugly  purpose.  But  she 
still  waited,  and  decency  called  on  him  to  speak. 

"  Natalie's  business  is  in  my  hands.  I  shall  attend 
to  it  when  I  get  round,  — -  when  I  get  round,  I  say." 

"  It  must  be  soon,  then,  or  I  shall  put  it  into  the 
hands  of  Gilbert  Home." 

She  had  not  mentioned  Home  since  that  other  day 
when  Brice  had  thrown  the  name  at  her.  He  had 
forgotten  that.  He  only  knew  now  that  Home  was 
here  in  prospect,  a  most  unwelcome  visitant.  He  got 
up  and  shook  himself,  like  an  animal  stung  from  sleep. 

"  Home !  "  he  repeated.  "Why  Home,  for  God's 
sake?" 

"  Because,"  said  Katharine,  choosing  her  words 
carefully,  "  it  is  evident  that  Natalie  must  have  some 


HUNTED   INTO   CORNERS  243 

man  to  stand  behind  her.  And  Gilbert  Home  will 
do  it." 

She  went  out,  leaving  the  door  open,  and  at  the 
same  instant  Natalie,  in  her  silent  way,  slipped  in. 
Mannering  heard  the  advancing  flutter  of  a  gown, 
and  looked  up  to  find  another  foe  upon  him.  It 
seemed  like  concerted  action,  and  he  was  tempted  to 
make  short  work  of  Natalie.  But  courtesy  constrained 
him,  and  he  smiled  at  her,  stretching  out  a  hand 
toward  that  neglected  evening  paper. 

"  It 's  rather  chilly  here,"  he  said,  immersing  him 
self  in  print,  with  a  great  crackling  of  pages.  "  I  '11 
start  up  the  fire  in  a  minute.  Don't  sit  here,  Natalie. 
Colds  are  very  prevalent  just  now." 

Natalie  stood  there  looking  absently  past  him,  and 
fingering  the  chain  about  her  neck.  She  was  consider 
ing  what  she  had  to  say.  But  since  it  was  difficult, 
she  began  without  flourishes,  and  plunged  into  as  crude 
a  phrasing  as  ever  Katharine  had  used : 

"  Have  you  seen  Fiske  and  Bailey  ?  " 

"  No,  I  have  n't,"  said  Mannering,  laying  down  the 
paper  and  facing  her.  But  at  the  quick  trouble  of 
her  look,  he  temporized.  "  Natalie,  this  won't  do,  you 
know.  You  must  n't  drive  me  into  corners.  Of 
course  I  've  seen  them.  But  it 's  confidential.  Busi 
ness  can't  be  discussed  like  this,  you  know ;  it  really 
can't." 

"  What  are  their  terms  ?  " 

She  might  as  well  have  asked  him  for  the  number 
of  red  herrings  in  the  sea.  Save  in  the  little  details 
touching  his  dress  and  his  ways  of  life,  he  abhorred 
particulars.  He  spoke  like  a  child  coerced  into  saying 
a  lesson  but  half  learned. 


244  THE  MANNERINGS 

"  1  can't  tell  you  that,  Natalie.  It 's  confidential. 
Don't  you  understand  what  that  is  —  confidential  ?  " 

She  collected  her  brooding  thoughts,  and  brought 
them  to  bear  on  him.  For  the  first  time  she  began  to 
consider  cousin  Brice  in  the  light  of  an  individual 
capable  of  action  in  a  serious  world.  Why  was  Kath 
arine  going  to  leave  him  ?  Would  the  traits  the  other 
woman  might  have  found  impossible  affect  him  in  his 
outer  dealings?  She  spoke  with  slow  emphasis,  as 
one  speaks  to  impress  a  vacillating  mind :  — 

"  Cousin  Brice,  you  must  understand  how  impor 
tant  all  this  is.  I  want  that  business  done.  If  it 
can't  be  done  by  you,  I  must  go  to  somebody  else." 

"  There  !  there  !  there,  Natalie  !  "  he  chanted,  in  a 
tone  he  had  hitherto  kept  for  Katharine  alone.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  the  complexion  of  life  was  entirely 
matrimonial.  Having  got  rid  of  one  woman,  he  was 
to  all  intents  saddled  with  another  using  the  same 
catchwords.  "  Don't  I  tell  you  I  '11  do  it  ?  Only  give 
me  time.  The  more  haste,  the  less  speed." 

"  I  wonder,"  she  said  to  herself,  as  if  she  had  not 
heard  him,  "whether  I  ought  to  speak  to  Gilbert 
Home." 

"  Great  guns  !  "  cried  Mannering.  "  I  should  think 
Home  had  made  the  world  in  six  days,  by  the  way  you 
women  talk !  " 

But  Natalie  had  not  heard.  She  was  still  reflect 
ing,  and  as  he  knew,  on  Home.  Policy  constrained 
him,  and  he  recalled  his  ordinary  ease.  He  balanced 
on  his  toes,  and  swung  his  eyeglass  cheerfully.  He 
even  laughed  a  little,  to  reassure  the  feminine  mind. 

"  See  here,  Natalie,"  he  said  jocosely,  "  the  train  is 
laid.  Fiske  and  Bailey  give  me  an  answer  in  three 


HUNTED   INTO   CORNERS  245 

days.  When  they  send  it  to  me,  I  pass  it  on  to  you. 
There,  now !  that 's  a  business  confidence.  You  've 
wormed  it  out  of  me.  Lovely  woman,  you  know  !  she 
gets  there  every  time." 

"  Three  days !  "  repeated  Natalie.  "  That  will  be 
on  Thursday." 

"  Thursday.     Yes,  quite  so,  Thursday." 

"  Very  well,  then,  Brice.  Thursday  night  I  shall 
ask  you  about  it  again."  She  went  gravely  away,  but 
Mannering  called  after  her  when  she  was  outside  the 
door,  — 

"  Now  mind  you,  not  a  word  to  Home  !  " 

When  she  was  really  gone,  and  he  heard  the  lessen 
ing  rustle  of  her  dress  above,  he  glanced  about  the 
room  and  breathed  free  air.  He  would  not  have  been 
surprised  at  an  interminable  line  of  women,  all  coming 
to  ask  foolish  things.  He  looked  at  his  paper.  It 
had  lost  its  savor  since  the  place  itself,  where  it  had 
nightly  reading,  was  no  longer  sacred  to  him.  He 
slipped  out  into  the  hall,  as  if  his  enemies  might 
pursue,  and  upstairs  to  his  father.  The  old  man  was 
sleeping  soundly,  but  as  Brice  stood  looking  at  him, 
he  awoke. 

"Nine  chances  out  of  ten  he  won't  be  here  to-night," 
he  said  fretfully ;  and  then,  as  Brice  laid  a  hand  on 
his  shoulder  and  tucked  the  sheet  in  closer,  he  added 
like  a  delighted  child :  "  I  said  he  'd  come  to-night. 
Well,  well,  my  son  !  well,  well !  " 

Brice  sat  down  by  the  bedside,  and  put  his  face 
down  to  his  father's  in  a  caressing  intimacy. 

"  There,  father,  there  !  "  he  said.  "  I  shall  always 
come.  Father !  " 

"  Yes,  my  son,  yes !  " 


246  THE  MANNERINGS 

"  Father,  you  know  we  always  wanted  to  go 
abroad  ?  " 

"  To  Greece,  my  boy,  the  land  of  the  free  —  no,  no, 
the  land  of  poetry  and  song." 

"  Yes,  father.  Well,  we  're  going.  We  're  going 
soon.  Don't  you  tell,  father,  not  a  soul,  and  some 
fine  morning  they  '11  wake  up  and  find  us  missing." 

"  Give  me  a  drink  of  water,  Brice,"  said  the  cap 
tain.  He  sat  up  and  smacked  his  lips  over  it,  as  if  he 
found  it  choice.  He  held  up  the  glass  like  one  giving 
a  toast,  and  quoted  something  about  libations  and 
hecatombs  of  beeves.  Then  he  lay  down  again  and 
went  off  to  sleep,  chuckling,  — 

"  Gods  and  goddesses !  and  nymphs,  Brice,  — 
nymphs  !  " 


XXV 

FOR   NATALIE 

THE  three  days  passed,  and  Mannering  stayed  in 
town.  On  the  fourth  morning  Natalie  went  in  to  his 
office,  and  was  told  that  he  was  away  on  business ;  he 
had  left  no  message.  Thereupon  she  wrote  a  letter  at 
his  desk,  to  remind  him  of  her.  But  a  summons  might 
as  well  have  been  tossed  into  space ;  there  was  no  an 
swer.  Meantime  she  had  been  looking  for  lodgings, 
while  the  other  two  women  went  about  together  on 
the  same  quest.  Elinor  had  ceased  urging  Katharine 
to  join  fortunes  with  her.  She  understood  that  be 
cause  Katharine  longed  for  it,  therefore  she  refused 
it.  There  might  be  softness  and  security  in  the  home 
they  could  make  together ;  but  Katharine,  according 
to  her  own  mind,  had  no  right  to  palliations.  She 
was  leaving  Brice  to  an  uncertain  future ;  and  she 
would  fare  no  better  than  he,  her  yokefellow  in  mis 
fortune. 

Natalie,  well  used  to  a  solitary  life,  had  no  thought 
of  joining  her  lot  to  theirs.  She  only  went  about  and 
made  her  own  silent  plans,  like  a  little  mateless  ani 
mal  hoarding  for  the  cold. 

At  the  end  of  the  sixth  day  Brice  came  home.  Some 
purpose  or  some  apprehension  had  made  inroads  on 
his  assumed  serenity.  He  looked  as  if  he  had  done  a 
great  deal  of  work  and  some  worrying.  This  time  he 


248  THE  MANNERINGS 

did  not  wait  for  Natalie  to  pounce.  He  met  her  in 
the  hall  as  she  came  down  to  dinner,  and  hailed  her  in 
a  consequential  whisper. 

"  I  've  got  'em  !  Fiske  and  Bailey !  Not  a  word 
now.  It 's  confidential." 

Natalie  felt  the  uplifting  of  unexpected  joy. 

"  Have  you  done  it,  Brice  ?  "  she  cried.  "  Have 
you  ?  " 

"  I  have  n't  done  it.  I  Ve  begun  it.  There  's  a 
rhyme  for  you,  Natalie.  Done,  begun !  begun,  done  !  " 

The  captain  was  standing  in  the  library  door  wait 
ing  for  his  son  to  come  and  hear  the  news  of  the  day : 
how  his  luncheon  had  not  agreed  with  him,  though 
a  pepsin  tablet  had  made  all  well,  and  how  he  had 
been  wondering  whether  a  lung  protector  would  not 
supplement  a  winter  thickness  of  flannels.  He  caught 
the  last  words  and  stood  repeating  them  in  a  childish 
glee  :  "  Done,  begun  !  begun,  done  !  " 

"  Tell  me  about  it,  Brice,"  urged  Natalie. 

He  shook  his  head.  He  was  graver  than  the 
sphinx. 

"  Not  yet,  Natalie,  not  yet !  Next  week  will  show 
you." 

"  But  you  '11  write  to  Richard  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,  Natalie.     Not  for  a  week." 

"  Don't  keep  me  in  the  dark,  Brice.  You  might 
trust  me." 

"  Business  is  business,"  said  Mannering.  He  was 
about  to  say  it  again  when  he  remembered  that  Kath 
arine  had  once  enjoined  him  to  avoid  vain  repetitions, 
with  the  pungent  addendum  that  they  savored  of  age. 
He  frowned,  and  looked  a  manful  tolerance.  "  You 
would  n't  understand  it,  if  I  told  you.  Besides,  it 's 


FOR   NATALIE  249 

confidential.  In  one  week  more  I  shall  have  their 
answer.  That 's  all  I  can  say." 

Without  waiting  for  her,  he  went  in  to  dinner.  As 
events  pressed  upon  him  and  the  need  of  escape  grew 
more  and  more  urgent,  he  began  to  neglect  the  minor 
courtesies.  Natalie,  puzzled  yet  manifestly  cheered, 
followed  him. 

No  one  had  heard  a  word  from  the  travelers  since 
they  reached  Toronto.  There  Madam  Walsingham 
and  Lorraine  had  written  their  duty  letters.  Both 
were  sent  before  Lorraine's  first  appearance,  and  both 
contained  the  usual  civilities  of  a  guest.  Dick  had 
not  written,  and  Natalie  looked  but  languidly  at  the 
daily  mail.  She  knew  he  would  not  write.  This  was 
not  the  first  long  absence  that  had  been  also  a  long 
silence.  It  was  one  of  the  ways  of  freedom.  There 
was  no  unkindness  in  it :  only  some  slothful  complai 
sance  toward  one  who  always  understood.  Years  ago 
her  name  in  his  hand  had  given  her  a  vital  pleasure 
she  could  hardly,  now,  recall ;  later,  when  she  was 
taking  on  the  habits  of  daily  poverty,  she  watched  for 
letters  that  never  came,  and  sickened  over  the  lack. 
But  all  that  was  done  with.  She  was  used  to  bank 
ruptcy.  Little  things  concerned  her  no  more ;  and 
even  great  ones,  so  far  as  she  had  any  part  in  them, 
were  shadowy  as  mountains  through  a  mist. 

During  that  next  week,  Brice  had  the  effect  of  whis 
pering  in  corners  with  his  father.  He  talked  to  him 
in  the  library  where  they  were  left  more  and  more 
alone,  and  followed  him  upstairs,  to  hold  long  con 
claves.  At  first,  the  old  man  looked  like  a  child 
delighted  with  a  secret,  and  hugged  it  to  his  heart. 
He  would  stop  the  women,  as  they  went  by  his  chair, 


250  THE  MANNERINGS 

and  begin,  "  Now  what  do  you  think  ?  "  and  then, 
remembering  that  he  had  been  trusted,  chuckle  "  No ! 
no !  no  !  "  and  refuse  to  finish.  But  when  other  days 
followed,  and  Brice  was  again  staying  in  town,  he 
grew  troubled  as  if  the  secret  had  become  a  burden 
he  was  unused  to  carrying  alone ;  and  one  morning 
he  went  to  the  library  door,  while  Katharine  was  tak 
ing  off  her  wraps  in  the  hall,  and  beckoned  her.  She 
came  at  once,  and  he  shut  the  door  behind  her. 

"  What  is  it,  captain  ?  "  she  asked  gently.  In  that 
moment  she  saw  anew  what  she  had  been  noticing  for 
a  long  time  :  his  doting  state,  the  swiftness  with  which 
age  had  come  upon  him.  He  got  her  a  chair  with  a 
laborious  courtesy,  and  when  she  was  seated,  drew 
another  up  in  front  of  her.  His  eyes  were  full  of 
tears,  and  his  voice  fell  into  whimpering. 

"  I  don't  like  it,  after  all,"  he  said.  "  Katie,  I  don't 
like  it." 

"  What  is  it,  captain  ?  "  she  asked  again.  She  put 
her  firm  hand  over  the  veined  one  on  his  knee.  He 
was  a  neutral  creature,  she  thought,  with  no  more 
blood  than  Brice ;  but  she  had  pity  for  the  old  age  in 
him. 

"  I  said  I  would  n't  tell,"  he  began  beseechingly. 
"  But  this  ain't  telling.  I  'm  only  talking  it  over, 
ain't  I  ?  You  won't  tell,  Katie,  will  you  ?  " 

"  No,  captain,  I  won't  tell." 

The  old  man  whispered  now,  — 

"  He  thinks  I  want  to  go  to  Greece.  I  did  want 
it,  but  I  've  got  over  it.  We  do  get  over  things,  this 
winter  weather,  don't  we,  Katie  ?  " 

"  Yes,  captain,  we  get  over  lots  of  things." 

"  Brice  said  I  must  n't  tell.     He  said  we  'd  go  into 


FOR   NATALIE  251 

town  the  day  before  and  pack  our  things.  He  said 
we  could  get  new  things,  so  as  not  to  have  it  known. 
But  I  don't  want  new  things,  Katie.  I  want  my  old 
ones." 

The  blood  came  into  Katharine's  face.  She  took 
her  hand  from  his,  as  if  the  touch  had  forced  him 
into  speech,  and  even  that  seemed  to  her  an  unfair 
constraining. 

"  So  you  were  not  to  tell,"  she  said  to  herself. 
"  You  two  were  to  go  away,  and  you  were  not  to 
tell!" 

u  To  Greece,  you  know,  Katie,"  said  the  old  man 
piteously.  His  wet  eyes  implored  her.  It  was  the 
look  of  a  helpless  creature  seeking  refuge.  "  I  want 
to  go  to  Greece.  Of  course  I  want  to.  The  land  of 
Homer,  Katie !  Seven  cities  claimed  him,  you  remem 
ber,  seven  cities.  But  I  don't  think  I  could  go  to 
Greece  in  winter  weather.  I  feel  the  cold.  You 
know  I  feel  the  cold." 

"Yes,"  said  Katharine  absently,  "of  course  you 
feel  the  cold."  But  she  was  thinking  of  Brice,  and 
wondering  how  to  meet  him. 

He  brightened.  His  troubles  seemed  to  him  quite 
over.  He  even  laughed  a  little,  as  he  did  when  he 
had  reached  the  conclusion  of  an  after  dinner  story. 

"  Better  to  read  about  it  in  winter  weather,  Katie !  " 
he  announced  rejoicingly.  "  That 's  what  we  '11  do, 
read  about  it,  you  and  I.  I  '11  translate  it  for  you, 
and  look  up  all  the  words.  That 's  it,  Katie.  We  '11 
read  about  it.  We  won't  go." 

Katharine  rose  anA  stood  looking  thoughtfully  before 
her. 

"  You  fix  it,  Katie,"  said  the  old  man,  taking  up 


252  THE  MANNERINGS 

his  Homer,  and  bending  vacuous  eyes  upon  the  fire. 
"  You  fix  it.  Don't  you  let  me  go." 

She  put  her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  soothed  him 
into  the  apathy  he  called  comfort.  Then  she  left  him 
to  his  book  and  nap,  and  went  in  to  Elinor,  who  was 
darning  table  linen  by  the  dining-room  window.  She 
looked  like  a  sweet  young  housewife  at  her  task  — 
a  foolish  task,  perhaps,  but  belonging  to  Katharine's 
stewardship.  Katharine  stopped  before  her,  big  with 
speech. 

"  What  is  it,  Kate  ?  "  asked  Elinor. 

Katharine  opened  her  lips  and  then  closed  them  the 
more  tightly. 

"  The  captain  is  growing  old,"  she  said  irrelevantly. 

"He  is  old." 

"  Yes,  but  we  are  things  for  a  long  time  without 
showing  them.  Age  comes  by  leaps  and  bounds.  We 
look  just  the  same  for  years,  and  then  we  're  forty. 
We  accept  that  and  stop  minding,  and  then  we  have 
an  illness  or  some  more  wrinkles,  and  we  're  fifty.  I 
never  thought  the  captain  was  much  older  than  Brice; 
but  all  at  once  he  's  broken.  When  shall  I  break,  too?  " 

Elinor  looked  up  briefly  from  her  work. 

"  Not  yet,"  she  said.     "  You  don't  look  thirty." 

"  What  will  it  be  when  I  do,"  said  Katharine 
absently,  trying  to  keep  her  mind  for  a  moment  from 
the  new  coil  to  be  untangled,  —  "  when  something 
breaks  and  I  look  my  age  ?  Shall  I  buy  futile  beau- 
tifiers,  and  always  wear  a  veil,  and  hold  my  head  high 
to  deny  my  double  chin,  and  narrow  my  eyes  to  ease 
the  wrinkles  under  them?  No,  Nell,  no!  we  won't 
do  that.  We  '11  live  and  be  honest,  and  then  we  '11 
die.  But  life  itself  —  Nell,  it 's  a  tough  experience." 


FOR  NATALIE  253 

"  Perhaps  it 's  very  simple,  after  all." 

"  Yes,  for  folks  like  you  who  have  some  sort  of 
theory.  Pray  for  me,  Nell,  pagan  gods  or  Christian, 
I  don't  mind  which.  For  Brice,  too !  Pray  for  us 
and  mend  our  tablecloths." 

Brice  came  home,  and  Katharine  regarded  him  with 
a  new  glance,  one  of  a  keener  interest  born  from 
knowledge  of  his  purpose.  He  had  the  usual  evening 
confidence  with  his  father,  undisturbed  ;  but  when  the 
captain  had  gone  to  bed,  she  sought  him  out  where  he 
was  hoping  for  an  hour  to  himself  by  the  fire.  He 
laid  down  his  paper.  He  had  done  with  feints.  The 
hope  of  warding  off  a  persistent  woman  was,  expe 
rience  told  him,  vain.  But  she  was  disarming.  She 
looked  sweet  and  womanly  —  almost,  his  surprised 
glance  told  him,  wifely,  too. 

"Brice!"  she  said,  as  if  she  addressed  a  stranger 
whom  she  meant  to  mollify,  "  you  must  think  twice 
before  you  take  your  father  abroad  in  winter  weather." 

His  mouth  opened  in  a  futile  gasp. 

"  He  never  could  bear  it  in  the  world,"  said  Kath 
arine,  in  the  way  of  one  who  shares  counsel  in  a  com 
mon  cause.  "  It  would  be  pulling  him  up  by  the 
roots.  He  is  an  old  man.  Don't  do  it,  Brice." 

It  was  not  a  trap,  but  his  credulity  made  it  one. 
She  was  friendly,  and  he  met  her  like  a  confidant. 

"  I  Ve  got  to  get  away,  Katie,"  he  said,  with  a  breath 
of  relief  at  their  new  accord.  "  There  's  the  devil  of 
a  complication  here,  and  I  must  get  away  from  it." 

"  What  sort  of  a  complication  ?  " 

"  Natalie  's  at  the  bottom  of  it.  She  's  hounding 
me  for  money  to  spend  on  Dick  Home.  I  've  got  to 
get  away  for  a  time  while  things  blow  over." 


254  THE  MANNERINGS 

"  Why  not  settle  her  affairs  ?  Then  you  could  go 
with  an  easy  mind." 

"  I  could  n't  go  at  all." 

"  I  see.  There  is  n't  enough  for  Natalie  and  you, 
too.  Is  that  it,  Brice  ?  " 

In  her  anxiety  to  induce  a  reasonable  mood  between 
them,  she  had  softened  her  voice  to  the  point  of  sym 
pathy.  It  disarmed  him  anew  ;  the  last  remnant  of 
suspicion  died  in  him. 

"  That 's  precisely  it,  Katie,"  he  said  confidentially. 
"  If  I  can  get  out  now,  I  shall  be  doing  the  best  thing 
all  round." 

"  How  about  the  business  ?  " 

"  I  shall  leave  it  in  Willard's  hands." 

"  Is  he  competent  ?  " 

"  Willard  has  been  a  clerk  under  me  for  nine 
years,"  said  Mannering  pompously.  "  He  knows  all 
the  ins  and  outs."  For  the  moment,  he  forgot  her 
unwilling  share  in  his  last  venture.  She  seemed 
merely  a  friendly  voice  from  an  indifferent  world. 
He  leaned  forward  now  and  whispered.  "  Hang  the 
business  !  Let  it  go  to  the  dogs.  I  've  made  a  good 
thing  out  of  '  Hearts  Inspired.'  That 's  all  that 
concerns  me." 

Katharine  got  up  out  of  her  chair,  and  went  to  the 
door.  "  Natalie  !  "  she  called.  "  Natalie  !  " 

Her  voice  rang  like  a  bell.  The  blood  within  her 
was  thick  in  shame  and  anger,  but  she  felt  only  the 
necessity  to  act.  The  method  might  be  dramatic,  but 
that  would  help  sway  him.  Natalie  came  at  once, 
with  the  promptness  of  one  who  has  been  awaiting 
a  summons.  It  was  an  innocent  haste,  but  it  seemed 
to  Brice  collusion,  as  it  had  that  other  day,  and  he, 


FOR  NATALIE  255 

too,  felt  anger.  Natalie  glanced  from  one  to  the 
other  in  grave  inquiry.  Her  pallor,  her  soft  gravity, 
gave  her  something  of  Katharine's  look,  the  censur 
ing  gaze  he  hated.  He  had  a  human  abhorrence  of 
being  forgiven  for  unknown  offenses. 

"  Brice,"  said  Katharine,  "  tell  Natalie." 

He  sat  in  silence,  the  red  of  anger  mounting  to  his 
forehead. 

"  Tell  Natalie,"  repeated  Katharine.  She  spoke 
with  authority,  and  her  height  and  poise  made  her 
majestic.  She  was  like  judge  and  executioner  in  one. 
"  Then  I  must  tell  her.  Natalie,  we  have  done  an 
abominable  thing  by  you.  We  have  spent  your 
money." 

"Spent  my  money?"  she  repeated,  in  a  gentle 
incredulity,  as  one  accepts  a  trivial  loss. 

"  Brice  had  your  property.  It  has  all  gone  into 
the  business.  It  is  swallowed  up  there.  You  can't 
have  it,  Natalie  —  yet." 

The  complexion  of  her  speech  gave  him  momentary 
hope.  Since  she  identified  herself  with  him,  she 
seemed  to  be  paving  a  way  of  escape. 

"  No,  Natalie,"  he  said,  in  easy  corroboration,  "  you 
can't  have  it  —  yet." 

Natalie  gave  them  a  difficult  attention.  "  I  do 
not  understand,"  she  said  appealingly,  to  Katharine. 
"  Used  ?  Swallowed  up  ?  It  was  a  lot  of  money." 

"Not  so  very  much,  Natalie,"  said  Mannering 
cheerfully,  "  not  a  fortune,  as  fortunes  go  nowadays. 
Something  to  manipulate,  as  you  might  say."  His 
self-sufficiency  had  come  back,  .and  he  smiled  at  them 
as  one  who  had  done  well  with  what  material  he  had. 
There  was  no  hope  for  him.  Gentleness  and  pru- 


256  THE  MANNERINGS 

dence  were  without  avail,  and  that  being  so,  Katha 
rine  gave  way  to  her  emotions  as  they  came. 

"We  won't  talk  platitudes,  any  of  us,"  said  she. 
There  were  white  marks  on  her  cheeks,  as  if  a  hand 
had  struck  her  there.  She  was  an  angry  woman. 
"  We  won't  tell  you  we  are  sorry  we  have  stolen 
your  money,  Natalie,  and  you  need  n't  tell  us  it  is  of 
no  consequence.  We  will  simply  try  to  get  it  back. 
There  is  no  way  of  getting  it  back  except  by  applying 
to  the  neighbors.  Go  over  and  ask  Gilbert  Home 
to  come  here  at  once." 

"  I  '11  be  damned  if  he  does !  "  He  was  on  his 
feet,  using  the  futile  gesticulation  of  a  man  who  has 
never  convinced  anybody  in  his  life,  but  has  noted 
the  methods  of  other  men. 

"  Go,  Natalie  !  Go  and  get  Gilbert  Home,"  Katha 
rine  repeated.  "  Do  what  I  tell  you.  This  is  the 
only  way." 

Natalie  turned  in  a  dazed  fashion,  and  at  the  door 
she  looked  back  in  deprecation  of  her  errand.  But 
Katharine  made  an  imperative  gesture,  and  the  girl 
obeyed  it.  When  she  had  crossed  the  sill,  Katharine 
closed  the  door  after  her  and  stood  there  facing  Brice. 
She  was  keeping  him  a  prisoner  by  the  force  of  her 
spirit,  and  though  he  raged  inwardly,  he  knew  he  should 
remain. 

"  I  won't  have  Home  in  this  house,"  he  announced, 
in  a  fractious  menace.  She  said  nothing.  He  walked 
across  the  floor  and  back  again.  "  For  God's  sake, 
Katie,"  he  cried,  mounting  to  a  pitch  of  fretfulness, 
"  what  do  you  want  to,  bring  Home  into  this  for  ?  " 

Her  anger  had  settled  into  the  steady  current  of 
unhindered  rage. 


FOR  NATALIE  257 

"  Chiefly  because  he  has  two  fists.  He  can  keep 
you  here  while  I  tell  him  you  are  a  swindler,  and  ask 
him  how  your  thefts  are  to  be  made  good.  You  do 
not  leave  this  house  until  these  things  are  settled." 

He  was  listening. 

"  Hark  !  "  he  said.  "  Father !  Was  n't  that  fa 
ther  calling?" 

She,  too,  listened.  There  was  no  sound  save  the 
blowing  of  a  gusty  wind  against  the  pane. 

"  It  is  father,"  said  Mannering  cunningly.  "  Let 
me  go,  Katie.  Something 's  happened  !  Let  me  go." 

Involuntarily  she  stepped  aside  from  the  door,  and 
he  dashed  out  and  up  the  stairs.  She  followed  him 
into  the  hall,  and  at  the  moment,  Natalie,  bareheaded 
as  she  had  run  through  the  orchard,  came  in  with  Gil 
bert  Home.  She  walked  straight  up  to  Katharine. 
She  was  very  white,  but  her  face  held  sorrowful  resolve. 

"  I  have  brought  him,  cousin  Katharine,"  she  said. 
"  But  I  have  not  told  him.  I  have  had  time  to  think. 
We  can't  do  anything  about  this,  without  disgrace  and 
trouble.  If  the  money  has  gone,  let  it  go.  It  was  my 
luck.  It  is  because  I  wanted  to  use  it  in  a  forbidden 
way.  It 's  of  no  use.  Everything  blocks  me  there." 

"  Let  it  go  ?  "  repeated  Katharine  rapidly,  hearken 
ing  as  she  spoke.  "  No,  no,  Natalie,  we  shan't  let  it  go. 
Mr.  Home,  listen  to  me.  Brice  has  stolen  Natalie's 
money.  He  is  going  abroad  with  it.  Don't  let  him 
get  out  of  this  house.  He  will  try  to  slip  away  to 
night,  he  and  his  father.  If  he  comes  down  these 
stairs,  stop  him.  My  God !  if  I  were  a  man  !  " 

"  It 's  of  no  use,"  said  Natalie  again.  Her  teeth 
were  chattering  with  excitement  added  to  the  chill  of 
her  dash  into  the  night.  "  I  wanted  him  to  take  my 


258  THE   MANNERINGS 

money  and  buy  out  Fiske  and  Bailey  for  me  —  for 
Dick.  He  said  they  were  considering  it  "  — 

"  He  said  ! "  repeated  Katharine,  in  a  rage  that 
seemed  like  scorn  of  herself  also.  "  He  lied." 

"  Fiske  and  Bailey  have  sold  out  to  a  New  York 
firm,"  said  Home.  He  was  conscious  of  not  having 
the  situation  in  hand,  but  he  contributed  such  data  as 
he  possessed.  "  The  papers  had  it  to-night." 

Natalie  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  a  smile  creep 
ing  over  her  face.  She  recognized  her  old  foe,  des 
tiny. 

"  Never  mind,  cousin  Katharine,"  she  said,  with  a 
quiet  certitude,  "it  is  of  no  consequence." 

"  Of  no  consequence  !  "  repeated  Katharine. 

"  No.  I  wanted  the  money  for  a  certain  purpose. 
I  might  have  known  I  could  n't  buy  a  thing  like  that. 
It 's  of  no  consequence." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  live  on  ?  It  may  be  all 
you  had !  " 

"  It  does  n't  really  matter,"  said  Natalie  again.  She 
returned  to  the  library,  and  took  up  a  book.  She  sat 
down  and  seemed  to  be  reading  it,  and  Katharine, 
watching  her  for  a  moment,  realized  that  the  blow  had 
changed  her.  She  beckoned  Home. 

"  You  must  help  her,"  she  said,  in  a  low  tone.  "  He 
must  not  leave  this  house  until  something  has  been 
settled." 

Home  cast  a  glance  about  the  hall,  and  she  inter 
preted. 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  she  added.  "  You  think  it  is  not  the 
usual  thing  to  keep  a  man  prisoner  in  his  own  house. 
Well,  somebody  's  got  to  do  it.  I  wish  it  could  be  I, 
but  I  'm  not  strong  enough.  It  must  be  you." 


XXVI 

SNOW 

BRICE  went  into  his  father's  room,  softly  for  all  his 
haste.  The  night  lamp  was  burning,  and  the  old  man, 
under  his  mask  of  pallor,  lay  in  a  sleep  that  looked 
like  death.  Brice  stood  still  at  the  bedside  and 
watched  him,  overcome  for  the  moment  by  the  proven 
certainty  that  his  father  was  very  old.  He  laid  his 
hand  on  the  captain's  shoulder. 

"  Father,"  he  whispered,  "  Father  !  " 

The  captain  came  uneasily  awake. 

"  Well,  well,  now,  Brice  !  so  you  've  got  home,"  he 
babbled.  "  We  can  read  a  little  together,  can't  we  ? 
Well!  well!" 

Brice  drew  him  to  a  sitting  posture. 

"  Father,"  said  he,  "  do  you  think  you  could  get  up 
now  and  dress  ?  " 

"  Dress,"  said  the  captain.  "  Why,  it 's  night 
time,  sonny." 

"  Yes,  father,  I  know.  Come,  you  put  your  feet 
right  out  of  bed." 

"  I  'm  warm  here,  Brice,  warm.  You  ought  to  con 
sider  that." 

Mannering  wrapped  a  blanket  about  the  shrunken 
shoulders,  pathetic  in  their  lack  of  brave  devices, 
tailor-made.  He  spoke  with  the  concentration  of  one 
whose  purposes  depend  on  calm. 


260  THE  MANNEKINGS 

"  You  get  up,  father,  and  I  '11  dress  you.  It  won't 
hurt  you.  It  '11  do  you  good.  We  '11  go  to  town, 
father,  by  the  late  train.  We  '11  go  to  the  best  hotel. 
There 's  plenty  of  money  where  I  can  put  my  hand  on 
it.  Chirk  up  now,  father  !  I  know  what  I  'm  do- 
ing." 

The  old  man  looked  at  him  in  a  vacuous  wonder 
ment.  Some  perplexity  was  there  also,  like  that  of  a 
child  dragged  from  a  dear  retreat.  He  sat  there  silent. 
He  seemed  to  be  listening. 

"Don't  you  hurry  me,  Brice,"  he  said  at  length, 
but  not  as  if  it  mattered.  "  Don't  you  hurry  me." 

Brice  drew  the  blanket  tighter  about  his  shoulders. 

"  You  sit  there  a  minute  and  think  it  over,"  he  coun 
selled,  with  a  heartening  warmth.  "  I  '11  throw  some 
thing  into  a  bag,  and  be  back  in  a  minute." 

He  hurried  into  his  own  room,  and  the  old  man 
looked  after  him,  in  the  dim  light.  Then  he  put  off 
the  blanket,  and  tried  stealthily  to  get  out  of  bed. 
He  had  thought  of  Katharine.  She  would  save  him 
from  these  sudden  madnesses  of  Brice. 

When  Mannering  came  back,  he  found  him  still  in 
bed,  but  huddled  forward  as  he  had  fallen.  He  put 
his  hand  on  him  and  cried  to  him ;  but  there  was  no 
answer.  Then  he  turned  him,  with  a  gentle  ruthless- 
ness,  and  read  his  face.  It  had  changed  in  an  inex 
plicable  way,  as  if  the  will  had  lost  control  of  it.  The 
eyes  seemed  to.  be  living,  in  a  strange  remoteness ; 
the  lips  refused  to  speak.  Mannering  ran  to  the 
stairs,  and  called  sharply,  — 

"  Katharine !  Katharine !  " 

In  a  moment  she  was  there,  Gilbert  Home  behind 
her. 


SNOW  261 

"  My  father  is  dying !  "  announced  Mannering,  in 
a  loud  tone,  as  they  entered.  "  Look  at  him  I  You  've 
killed  him,  amongst  you." 

Home  pushed  past  him,  and  went  up  to  the  bed. 
The  captain's  eyes  met  his  vaguely,  and  the  lips 
twitched  after  words. 

"  You  're  all  right,  captain,"  said  Home.  "  Warm 
enough  ?  Mrs.  Mannering  will  get  you  another 
blanket."  But  while  Katharine  bent  solicitously  over 
the  pillow,  he  left  the  room  and  motioned  Brice  to 
follow. 

"It's  a  stroke,"  he  said  rapidly,  in  the  country 
phrasing.  "  He  can't  manage  his  lips  or  his  hand. 
Did  you  see?  I'll  telephone  for  Drummond.  Go 
back  in  there  and  keep  your  mouth  shut.  Don't  tell 
him  he  's  done  for." 

Brice  with  a  white  face,  went  in  again,  and  found 
Katharine  trying  to  feed  the  old  man  with  drops  of 
brandy  from  the  table  near  at  hand.  He  took  them 
obediently.  He  seemed  in  no  way  disturbed,  but  only 
as  a  worn-out  creature  whose  machinery  has  broken 
down.  Presently  he  closed  his  eyes,  and  Katharine 
began  to  get  hot-water  bags  and  blankets.  After  that 
she  sat  down  at  one  side  of  the  bed,  and  watched 
him  drifting  into  a  sleep  that  looked  like  lethargy. 
Brice  drew  up  a  chair  on  the  other  side,  and  took  his 
father's  hand.  Tears  were  in  Mannering' s  eyes,  and 
Katharine,  as  she  looked,  saw  his  lips  move,  and  won 
dered  if  he  could  be  praying. 

At  eleven  the  doctor  came,  Drummond,  from  town, 
Dick's  friend  and  an  occasional  visitor.  He  was  a 
young  man,  sandy  and  strong,  deprecatory  of  his  own 
value  in  all  walks  save  medicine,  where  he  knew  his 


262  THE   MANNERINGS 

way.  He  had  a  gay  good-nature  in  the  ante-rooms  of 
life  and  an  iron  precision  over  his  work.  He  came 
into  the  room  with  an  alert  step,  bowed  to  Katharine, 
and  adjusted  his  glasses  on  his  nose.  He  nodded  at 
Home  then,  and  Mannering,  seeing  the  unmoved  grav 
ity  of  the  professional  face,  gave  it  swift  interpreta 
tion.  A  groan  escaped  him,  and  gently  releasing 
himself  from  his  father's  hand,  he  went  into  the  hall. 
There,  ten  minutes  later,  the  doctor  followed  him. 
Brice  took  the  verdict  upon  his  own  lips. 

"  My  father  has  had  a  shock,"  he  said  in  a  whisper. 

Drummond  nodded. 

"He  won't  get  over  this,"  Brice  continued,  looking 
at  the  floor,  and  shaking  his  head.  "  He  won't  get 
over  it." 

"  He  may  last  some  time,"  said  Drummond ;  but 
Mannering  interrupted  him  angrily. 

"  He  won't  get  over  it.  I  am  going  to  lose  my 
father!" 

Katharine  came  out  then,  and  Drummond  turned 
to  her.  "  I  '11  send  you  down  a  nurse,"  said  he,  "  to 
morrow  morning." 

"  No  !  no !  "  Mannering  broke  in  peremptorily.  "  I 
won't  have  a  nurse.  I  shall  take  care  of  my  father 
myself." 

u  You  don't  understand,  Mannering,"  said  the  doc 
tor.  "  He  '11  be  far  more  comfortable  with  a  nurse. 
Everybody  is." 

Again  Brice  made  his  denial,  and  Katharine  put  in 
a  temporizing  word.  A  strange  enthusiasm  had  risen 
in  her  with  the  wave  of  sympathy  she  felt  for  Brice. 
She  seemed  to  herself  more  human,  more  decent  even, 
more  like  other  women  in  sharing  some  emotion  com- 


SNOW  263 

mon  to  the  hearth.  If  she  could  foster  even  the 
smallest  seed  of  what  was  lacking  in  her  duty  toward 
him,  she  would  do  it,  even  through  the  most  exacting 
tasks. 

The  doctor  spent  the  night  at  Gilbert  Home's,  and 
Brice  watched  beside  his  father.  Katharine  was  with 
him,  at  intervals,  but  though  he  took  things  from  her 
hand  and  followed  her  brief  hints,  he  did  not  seem  to 
see  her. 

Next  morning  Drummond  came  in  again,  and  after 
liberal  directions,  went  back  to  town.  Katharine,  with 
her  husband,  began  their  joint  routine,  with  the  ab 
sorption  of  those  for  whom  the  outward  face  of  life 
has  changed,  and  who  undertake  the  day  knowing 
that  many  of  the  same  complexion  are  sure  to  follow. 
Elinor  came  down  to  breakfast  unprepared  for  the  new 
state  of  things,  and  she  too  adopted  it,  overseeing 
the  household  in  quiet  ways  and  sitting  near  the  sick 
room  lest  she  should  be  wanted.  But  Brice  stayed  by 
his  father.  He  saw  nobody ;  he  spoke  only  briefly 
and  as  he  must.  His  eyes  were  ever  on  the  sick 
man's  face ;  his  hand  covered  the  helpless  one  outside 
the  bed.  He  was  an  image  of  untrammeled  grief  ; 
his  cheeks  were  sodden  with  it.  Katharine,  in  the 
pauses  of  her  ministration,  watched  him  curiously. 
Once  she  said  to  Elinor,  when  they  met  for  a  moment 
in  her  room,  — 

"  Nell,  he  cares !     Brice  cares  awfully." 
"  Of  course  he  cares.     It 's  his  father." 
Katharine  seemed  absorbed  in  a  wondering  specu 
lation. 

"  I  thought  he  could  n't  care  for  anything,"  she 
owiied.  "  I  did  n't  think  he  had  it  in  him." 


264  THE   MANNERINGS 

"  He  was  devoted  to  his  father." 

"  Devoted,  yes  !  But  I  thought  it  was  only  a  kind 
of  game  they  liked  to  play,  like  Homer  and  Minerva's 
eyes.  Brice  is  a  sealed  book  to  me,  Nell.  I  knew 
that  before,  but  I  thought  it  was  a  blank  book.  Per 
haps  there  's  writing  in  it,  after  all." 

At  night,  there  was  a  message  from  Drummond 
proposing  to  delay  coming  until  next  day,  if  there 
proved  to  be  no  change,  and  offering  to  send  a  nurse. 
But  again  Brice  refused  the  nurse,  and  the  more  tes 
tily  now  because  he  was  tired.  Neither  he  nor  Kath 
arine  had  slept  since  the  beginning  of  their  watch,  and 
Elinor  came  into  the  room  at  six,  where  Katharine 
was  arranging  the  table,  with  its  spoons  and  glasses, 
and  Brice  sat  sunken  in  a  great  chair  by  the  bed. 
He  was  holding  his  father's  hand.  Elinor  touched 
him  on  the  shoulder. 

44 1  've  had  my  supper,  Brice,"  she  said,  with  a 
friendly  authority.  "  You  and  Katharine  are  to  eat 
yours  and  lie  down.  I  shall  stay  here  till  midnight. 
Then  I  '11  call  one  of  you." 

He  made  a  brief  remonstrance,  but  his  eyelids 
dropped  in  spite  of  him.  Finally  he  went,  and  Kath 
arine  followed.  The  old  man  still  lay  in  his  blessed 
stupor,  and  Elinor,  at  ease  in  the  great  chair,  pondered 
upon  his  face.  It  had  gained,  in  its  relaxing,  some  of 
the  serenity  of  death.  The  dignity  which  ought  to  be 
an  old  man's  heritage,  he  seemed  to  have  stored  for  his 
withdrawal.  Elinor  sat  thinking  of  her  father,  subtly 
recalled  by  this  vigil,  so  like,  in  many  ways,  to  those 
last  nights  in  Italy.  Yet  it  was  not  the  same :  for  the 
shaded  dusk  within  the  room  was  that  of  the  New 
England  world,  and  outside  fine  snow  sifted  against 


SNOW  265 

the  windows  with  the  sound  of  unseen  draperies.  In 
some  mysterious  way  that  sound  recalled  her.  It 
broke  through  her  musings,  and  summoned  her  back 
from  the  path  her  mind  was  taking  toward  the  goals 
of  life  and  death.  She  had  been  wondering  over  the 
progress  of  the  soul,  its  mysterious  journey  hither, 
its  troubled  stay,  and  then  this  withdrawal  into  as 
great  a  mystery.  She  was  thinking  how  simple  the 
change  seems  when  it  comes,  not  subject  to  the  dread 
of  the  flesh  nor  the  sorrow  of  parting.  It  was  as 
natural  as  life  ;  nay,  it  was  a  part  of  life  —  but  at  that 
instant,  as  if  the  snow  upon  the  window  had  been  a 
voice  for  her  alone,  she  sat  upright  in  her  chair,  and 
her  mind  asked  itself  sharply,  — 

«  Where  is  Natalie  ?  " 

It  came  upon  her  with  the  insistence  of  a  voice 
marshaling  facts  because,  for  some  hidden  reason,  it 
will  be  heard,  that  she  had  not  seen  Natalie  all  day. 
It  was  not  strange,  perhaps,  in  this  turmoil  of  illness ; 
but  she  had  not  seen  her.  She  had  eaten  alone,  lis 
tening  for  sounds  from  above  stairs,  and  then,  fearful 
lest  Katharine  should  lack  for  food,  taking  little  trays 
to  her.  The  voice  kept  calling,  and  she  sat  there,  hot 
with  haste  to  be  gone,  and  yet  quieting  her  fears  by 
commonplaces  and  the  certainty  that,  for  the  present, 
she  must  be  here.  She  gave  the  captain  his  medicine, 
and  moved  him  on  the  pillow ;  but  the  snow  was  sift 
ing  against  the  glass  and  summoning  her  so  strenu 
ously  now  that  she  was  angry  with  it.  She  went 
softly  to  the  window,  and  putting  her  hands  on  either 
side  of  her  face,  looked  out  into  the  dark.  The  driv 
ing  snow  looked  cruel ;  her  mind  asked  her  again,  — 

"Where  is  Natalie?" 


266  THE  MANNERINGS 

At  eleven  Brice  stepped  softly  in,  still  heavy  with 
sleep.  His  anxiety  peered  sharply  through  his  stupor, 
like  eyes  behind  a  veil. 

"  Is  there  any  change  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  I  '11  stay  with  him,"  he  said,  but  she  was  already 
on  her  way  to  the  door.  The  voices  clamored  now. 
She  sped  up  to  Natalie's  room  and  knocked,  and  then, 
not  waiting  for  an  answer,  lifted  the  latch  and  looked 
in.  There  was  no  light. 

"  Natalie,"  she  caUed  softly,  "  Natalie." 

The  air  struck  cold  upon  her.  She  walked  in,  and 
passed  her  hand  over  the  bed.  It  had  not  been  slept 
in ;  after  a  brief  and  futile  search  for  matches,  she 
stood  still  an  instant,  and,  warned  by  the  quiet  of 
the  place,  turned  and  ran  downstairs.  She  looked 
into  the  library,  where  lamplight  and  firelight  were 
lovely.  Katharine  lay  on  the  sofa,  warmly  covered 
and  sound  asleep.  Elinor  glanced  into  the  dining- 
room,  and  then  the  kitchen.  No  one  was  there.  She 
turned  back  into  the  hall,  and  put  on  Katharine's 
high  overshoes  and  a  cloak.  She  drew  the  hood 
over  her  head  and  pinned  it  under  her  chin.  Then, 
kilting  her  skirts  high,  she  stepped  out  into  the 
night,  and  with  the  snowflakes  stinging  on  her  face, 
ran  down  the  drive.  This  was  no  time  for  the 
little  friendly  path.  The  orchard  stood  inviolate, 
like  an  enchanted  country,  all  white  and  darkness. 
Strangely,  she  thought  of  it  as  she  was  running  away 
from  it,  and  of  one  day  in  May,  when  she  had  sat 
there  on  the  grass  laughing  at  Gilbert  Home,  and 
looking  up  into  the  pink  flutter  of  blossoms  in  the 
green,  drunk  with  the  sweetness  of  them  and  her 


SNOW  267 

youth  and  his.  There  were  two  trees  he  pointed  out 
to  her  then,  one  sedate  in  green.  It  had  not  blos 
somed  at  all ;  but  the  tree  beside  it  was  sifted  over 
white.  That  was  the  bride,  he  told  her ;  the  other 
was  the  bridegroom.  And  for  no  reason  but  the 
reason  of  youth,  they  had  laughed  then  and  felt  the 
blood  in  their  faces.  But  she  hurried  on  through 
the  snow,  while  her  thoughts  went  the  faster,  and  along 
the  road  and  up  the  driveway  to  his  house.  There 
was  a  light  in  the  library,  and  she  pushed  open  the 
front  door  and  went  in  to  find  him.  The  room  was 
warm.  Every  corner  in  it  spoke  of  him,  as  if  it  were 
a  place  he  had  just  left.  It  was  like  the  dream  where 
we  find  rooms  with  no  one  in  them.  But  she  went 
through  to  the  kitchen,  and  there  was  Cassie  sitting 
in  the  big  chair,  leaning  forward  in  a  brooding  maze. 
Elinor  drew  a  breath  of  relief  at  human  company. 

"  Cassie,"  she  began,  "  I  can't  find  Natalie." 

Cassie  rose  to  her  feet. 

"  What  do  you  want  of  her  ?  "  she  asked  practi 
cally. 

"  I  must  find  her.  Something  has  happened.  She 
has  gone  away.  Where  is  he,  Cassie  ?  " 

"  In  the  third  story,  walking  up  and  down." 

"  Then  we  know  where  to  find  him.  But  you  come 
with  me,  Cassie.  We  '11  go  to  one  place  first." 

"  Where  ?  "  Cassie  was  putting  on  a  thick  shawl 
and  overshoes.  She  was  pale  of  late,  but  it  had  given 
her  robust  beauty  a  softer  touch ;  and  now,  in  this 
response  to  Elinor's  unknown  purpose,  she  looked 
invincible.  "  Where  ?  "  she  repeated. 

Elinor  whispered,  not  from  intention  but  because 
her  voice  had  failed  her,  — 


268  THE  MANNERINGS 

"  The  house  in  the  woods !  " 

Cassie  looked  thriftily  to  the  lamps  in  the  kitchen 
and  library,  and  they  went  fighting  their  way  into  the 
dark.  The  snow  was  not  so  deep  as  hampering. 

"  There  won't  be  much  of  it  in  the  woods,"  said  she, 
when  they  toiled  into  the  field.  "  Stand  still  a  minute." 
She  stopped,  and,  getting  in  the  lee  of  Elinor,  lighted 
a  match  with  difficulty  and  set  it  to  the  lantern's  wick. 

"  We  ought  to  have  done  that  in  the  house,"  said 
Elinor,  in  the  nervous  interest  awakened  by  trifles 
when  great  things  are  at  stake. 

"  He  'd  see  it,  no  matter  how  I  hid  it,"  answered 
Cassie  briefly.  "  He  's  got  eyes  like  a  hawk." 

Neither  of  them  quite  knew  why  Gilbert  Home 
must  be  denied  their  quest.  In  some  unaccountable 
way  they  seemed  to  be  shielding  Natalie.  It  was 
woman  against  man,  not  to  defend  the  woman,  but  to 
keep  her  from  betraying  the  sick  secrets  of  her  heart. 
When  they  struck  the  logging  road,  the  way  was 
easier.  The  tops  of  the  great  pines,  packed  with 
snow,  had  shielded  it ;  but  in  spite  of  the  weight  upon 
them  they  were  moving  in  a  winter  uneasiness  or  a 
winter  pleasure.  There  was  a  swaying  of  branches, 
and  once  a  limb  fell  with  a  grinding  progress.  The 
wood  stillness  was  broken  by  little  creakings  and 
snappings  even  through  the  muffling  of  the  snow, 
because  the  wind  was  busy  there  above.  Cassie  was 
ahead,  walking  with  bold,  free  strides,  like  a  man.  She 
stopped  an  instant  in  the  clearing  to  get  her  breath, 
and  then  went  forward  to  the  little  house  and  laid  her 
hand  upon  the  door. 

"  Stop,"  said  Elinor,  breathless  at  her  side.  "  Some 
one  is  talking." 


SNOW  269 

It  was  a  woman's  voice  within.  Elinor  gave  a  little 
sob  of  quick  relief.  The  expedition  had  changed  at 
once  into  something  human,  and  therefore  destitute  of 
terror. 

"  Knock,"  she  said.     "  Who  can  it  be  ?  " 

Cassie  tapped  on  the  door,  and  then  pounded,  but 
the  talk  continued.  They  listened  for  a  moment  and 
Cassie  said,  "  It 's  her  voice." 

She  pushed  open  the  door,  and  they  went  in.  The 
dim  light  struggled  feebly  about  the  room.  Cassie 
held  the  lantern  over  her  head,  and  peered  into  the 
corner  where  the  voice  was  babbling.  There  was  Nat 
alie.  She  lay  on  the  couch,  her  feet  together  and  her 
hands  folded. 

"  The  snow  is  very  deep,"  she  was  saying,  in  a 
manner  not  her  own.  "  There  is  nothing  so  terrible 
as  snow." 

There  was  no  fire.  Evidently  there  had  been  none 
for  hours,  for,  warmed  as  they  were  from  their  walk 
ing,  they  felt  the  chill. 

"  Light  the  lamp,  Cassie,"  said  Elinor.  Her  teeth 
were  chattering.  It  was  the  terror  of  the  unknown. 
She  went  up  to  the  couch  and  knelt  there.  She  laid 
her  hands  on  Natalie's  and  gently  broke  their  clasp. 

"Natalie,"  she  said,  "Natalie,  we  came  to  find 
you." 

"  The  snow  is  deep,"  said  Natalie,  not  turning  her 
eyes  upon  her,  nor  seeming  to  speak  to  any  one  but 
that  invisible  witness  which  knew  the  secrets  of  her 
soul. 

Cassie  had  lighted  the  lamp,  and  Elinor  bent  for 
ward  in  a  quick  anticipation,  to  read  what  she  might 
in  the  girl's  face.  It  had  two  spots  of  color  in  the 


270  THE  MANNERINGS 

pale  cheeks,  and  the  eyes  were  glittering.  But  they 
did  not  return  from  vacancy.  Elinor  kept  her  hand 
on  Natalie's,  while  she  spoke  over  her  shoulder,  — 

"  You  must  go  back  for  him,  Cassie.  Tell  him  we 
can't  get  her  home  alone." 

Cassie  nodded,  but  at  the  same  instant  she  threw 
off  her  shawl,  and  began  to  lay  a  fire.  She  struck  the 
match,  and  put  it  to  the  wood.  The  blaze  crackled 
upward,  and  ate  up  more  shadows  in  the  room.  "  I  'm 
going,"  she  said  briefly.  "  We  11  be  right  back." 

Elinor  heard  the  door  put  softly  to  behind  her. 
After  that,  and  for  what  seemed  a  long  time,  Natalie 
was  silent.  Her  eyes  were  closed,  but  she  seemed  not 
to  be  sleeping.  Now  she  opened  them  again. 

"  I  am  lonesome,"  she  said.  "  Anybody  would  be 
lonesome  in  the  snow." 

Elinor  covered  her  with  her  cloak,  and  held  her 
hands  again. 

" '  He  giveth  snow  like  wool,'  "  said  the  voice  in 
an  awed  rapidity.  " i  He  scattereth  the  hoarfrost  like 
ashes.'  " 

The  tears  were  running  down  Elinor's  cheeks.  She 
loved  the  child,  at  that  instant,  more  than  she  had 
ever  loved  anything.  Natalie  was  so  uncompanioned 
in  the  dark.  The  voice  went  on. 

" c  He  giveth  his  snow  like  wool.'  He  can  do 
everything.  He  can  bury  us  in  the  snow  and  keep  us 
there.  We  don't  die,  but  we  are  buried.  But  we 
die  at  last."  The  voice  rang  sweetly,  in  a  vivid  tri 
umph.  "  We  die  at  last.  Nobody  can  take  it  from  us. 
We  die  at  last.  Don't  let  Dick  know."  The  voice 
sank  to  a  whisper.  "  It  would  trouble  him.  Dear 
old  Dick  !  Dear  boy !  dear  child  !  dear  old  darling ! 


SNOW  271 

Tell  all  the  rest,  but  not  Dick.  He  was  good  to  Nat 
alie,  always  good.  Only  he  did  n't  love  her.  He 
could  n't,  dear  old  Dick !  Keep  him  from  her,  too, 
the  other  one.  She  hurts  him.  Let  him  go  away, 
miles  and  miles  away,  and  forget  them  both.  Let 
him  have  a  horse  and  a  dog  and  a  gun,  let  him  dance 
if  he  wants  to.  There  must  be  a  woman  for  him 
somewhere.  Not  these  two !  One  hurt  him  and  the 
other  wore  him  out.  Poor  old  Dick !  They  must  n't 
be  allowed  to  hurt  him."  Suddenly  she  turned  her 
uneasy  head  upon  the  pillow,  and  her  eyes  met  Eli 
nor's.  Elinor's  breath  stopped.  For  the  moment, 
Natalie  seemed  to  be  recalled.  But  the  eyes  held 
hers,  with  no  recognition  in  them,  only  a  sort  of 
wonder.  "  So  you  came,"  said  the  voice.  "  The  angel 
of  the  Lord !  But  you  must  n't  let  me  decide  any 
thing  to-night.  Let  me  lie  here.  Dick  made  this 
bed  for  me.  Only  he  made  it  out  of  snow.  Listen." 
She  struggled  to  a  sitting  posture  and  whispered: 
"  We  must  never  love  them  too  much.  If  we  do,  we 
must  hide  it,  hide  it.  And  we  must  n't  try  to  do 
things  for  them.  Not  too  many  things.  God  won't 
have  it.  He  sends  the  snow,  and  then  we  can't  get 
through  the  drifts.  Did  you  get  through  the  drifts?  " 
The  question,  with  its  courteous  inflection,  sounded 
sane,  and  Elinor  was  about  answering,  when  the  door 
opened  in  a  noiseless  haste,  and  Gilbert  Home  came 
in.  The  flakes  lay  like  dust  on  his  great  shoulders 
and  his  cap.  Natalie  looked  at  him,  and  laughed. 

"  Aha !  "  she  cried,  like  a  merry  child.  "  Saint 
Christopher.  He  won't  mind  the  snow,  Saint  Chris 
topher  !  " 


XXVII 

SAINT    CHRISTOPHER 

ELINOR  looked  up  at  Gilbert  from  her  kneeling 
posture  ;  their  eyes  met  and  gravely  answered.  Hers 
were  black  with  anxiety ;  but  even  her  attitude  fell 
into  relief  because  he  had  come.  He  took  off  his  cap, 
and  went  up  to  the  couch  where  Natalie  lay  regarding 
him  still  mirthfully.  He  spoke  to  her  with  a  charm 
ing  deference,  like  one  essaying  a  game  with  a  child. 

"  Natalie,  I  want  you  to  come  somewhere  with  me." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  No  !  "  she  said,  "  no  !  no  !  "  She  sang  the  words 
in  a  pretty  chanting,  ending  in  a  laugh. 

"  I  tried  to  drive  down,"  he  explained  to  Elinor,  in 
an  undertone,  "  but  there  's  a  tree  fallen  across  the 
path.  Cassie  has  gone  back  with  the  sleigh.  Nata 
lie !"  his  voice  coaxed  her,  "  now  I  want  you  to  come 
with  me." 

But  she  was  beginning,  in  a  thin  sweet  little  voice, 
the  French  song  Lorraine  had  sung  about  the  house. 
At  the  end  of  a  line,  she  shuddered. 

"No!  no!  "  she  said,  "not  that.  We  mustn't  sing 
that.  They  sing  it  —  the  other  women.  No  !  no  !  " 

Elinor  had  risen  to  her  feet,  and  now  stood  waiting. 
Home  gave  her  back  her  cloak,  and  then  took  a 
blanket  from  the  pile  where  they  had  been  left  for 
use.  He  wrapped  it  about  Natalie's  shoulders,  and 
lifted  her  in  his  arms. 


SAINT  CHRISTOPHER  273 

"  I  'm  going  to  carry  you,  Natalie,"  he  said. 
"  You  '11  let  me  carry  you  ?  " 

She  laughed.  "  Saint  Christopher  ? "  she  asked 
delightedly. 

"  Yes,  Saint  Christopher  !  I  am  going  to  carry 
you  home." 

She  gave  a  little  cry,  and  pushed  him  with  both  her 
hands.  The  excess  of  her  passion  in  answer  to  the 
familiar  word  struck  out  some  sanity  in  her. 

"  No !  no  !  "  she  cried,  over  and  over.  "  I  have  gone 
away  from  that  house.  I  have  gone  away  from  that 
room.  I  am  going  to  live  in  the  snow  now  —  in  the 
snow  !  in  the  snow  !  " 

"  You  shall  go  to  my  house,"  answered  Home  in 
stantly.  "  You  shall  not  go  home." 

"  Saint  Christopher !  Saint  Christopher !  "  she 
chanted,  and  her  cheek  fell  happily  upon  his  shoul 
der.  He  gathered  her  the  better  in  his  arms,  and 
Elinor  wrapped  another  blanket  round  her. 

"  Put  out  the  light,"  he  said. 

She  waited  for  him  to  cross  the  sill,  and  followed. 
He  halted,  and  after  she  had  closed  the  door,  she 
stepped  on  before  him  with  the  lantern.  Some  hint 
of  the  woods,  the  storm  and  the  night  touched  at  the 
gate  of  Natalie's  senses,  and  her  talk  was  of  the  outer 
world. 

"Ride  a  cock-horse  to  Banbury  Cross!"  she  sang, 
and  laughed  in  a  merriment  echoing  strangely  through 
the  muffling  of  the  snow. 

Elinor  walked  rapidly  even  along  the  deepening 
footway,  and  securely  because  Horne  was  with  her. 
When  they  came  to  the  fallen  tree,  she  stopped  an  in 
stant  to  find  the  best  way  over  it,  and  he  too  paused, 


274  THE  MANNERINGS 

to  put  his  foot  a  moment  on  the  log  and  rest  from  the 
strain  of  his  carrying. 

"Can  you  manage  it,  dear?"  he  asked.  Even 
through  the  gravity  of  the  hour  his  tenderness  called 
upon  her  blood  and  steadied  it. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  gravely,  and  continued,  feed 
ing  on  the  word  he  never  knew  he  uttered. 

"  The  partridges  flutter  in  the  snow,"  called  Nat 
alie.  "  It 's  a  pretty  mark.  They  make  it  with  their 
wings.  Little  tracks,  too,  all  winter !  There  is  n't 
any  spring  any  more  —  nor  summer.  Summer 's 
dead  and  gone  !  dead  and  gone  !  It 's  all  snow  now. 
He  giveth  snow,  snow  " 

They  had  finished  the  difficult  way  across  the  pas- 
'  ture,  and  found  the  road.  Elinor  walked  almost 
lightly  with  relief.  But  when  she  would  have  turned 
at  the  gateway,  Home  called  to  her,  "  Go  on." 

"On?" 

"  My  house.     I  promised  her." 

She  obeyed,  and  they  took  the  driveway  to  his 
house,  where  lights  were  moving.  Home  drew  a  great 
breath,  as  he  went  up  the  steps.  Cassie  had  thrown 
open  the  front  door,  and  stood  there  with  a  light. 

"  The  chintz  room !  I  've  made  a  fire,"  she  said  to 
him,  and  he  went  up  the  stairs,  the  two  women  follow 
ing.  The  great  chamber  was  bright  with  firelight,  and 
tiie  bed  was  ready.  Cassie's  nightgown  was  warming 
before  the  blaze.  It  was  a  pretty  frilled  thing  made 
one  winter  when  three  of  her  mates  were  married,  and 
delicate  clothing  was  the  substance  of  girlish  talk. 
Home  went  up  to  the  couch,  and  put  Natalie  gently 
down  on  it.  Her  eyes  had  closed.  The  red  was 
fainter  in  her  cheeks.  She  seemed  to  be  asleep. 


SAINT  CHRISTOPHER  275 

"  Are  you  all  right  ? "  he  said  to  Elinor.  She 
nodded,  and  gave  him  her  snowy  cloak  to  take  down 
stairs.  Then  he  went  out,  and  the  two  women  un 
dressed  Natalie,  and  got  her  into  bed.  Once  while 
they  were  at  work  Elinor  asked  Cassie,  with  a  sudden 
thought,  — 

"  How  did  you  know  we  should  come  here  ?  " 

"  I  thought  maybe  he  would,"  said  Cassie  briefly. 

Horne  threw  off  his  coat,  and  sat  a  moment  in  the 
dining-room  to  breathe  again.  His  muscles  trembled, 
and  he  was  dripping  from  the  task.  But  in  a  moment 
he  got  up  and  went  into  the  kitchen.  Old  Sally  was 
there  over  a  roaring  fire.  A  smell  of  herbs  was  in 
the  air,  and  the  kettles  steamed.  He  was  used  to 
being  understood  in  half  speech. 

"  No  doctor  till  morning,  Sally,"  he  said.  "  What 
you  going  to  do?  " 

"  Pack  her  round  with  water  bottles.  I  've  got 
su'thin  here  to  throw  her  into  a  sweat." 

"  She  's  in  a  high  fever  now,  poor  child !  " 

"  You  let  me  alone  !  " 

Horne  waited  in  the  hall.  He  saw  old  Sally  go 
limping  up  the  stairs  with  a  steaming  pitcher,  and 
kettles  of  hot  water.  There  was  silence  above,  and 
after  an  hour  she  came  down  again. 

"  You  better  git  the  doctor  by  the  early  train,"  she 
said.  "  She  's  terrible  sick.  It 's  beyond  me." 

"  Call  John  and  tell  him  to  go  into  the  Manner- 
ings'  and  telephone.  I  '11  write  it  out." 

"  There  ain't  no  train  till  daylight,"  said  Sally,  but 
he  cut  her  short  and  gave  her  the  penciled  message. 
It  called  Drummond  by  the  early  train.  For  himself, 
he  dared  not  be  away  an  instant,  lest  Elinor  should 


276  THE   MANNERINGS 

summon  him.  Then  he  sat  and  reflected  on  the  poverty 
of  a  house  where  everybody  was  well,  and  where  there 
was  no  medical  provision  for  fever  or  a  sleepless  night. 

"  Sally,"  he  called  again  into  the  kitchen,  "where 
did  you  put  mother's  medicines,  when  you  cleaned  the 
house?" 

"  Emptied  'em  into  the  sink,"  said  Sally,  and  took 
her  way  again  upstairs  with  glass  and  spoon. 

Meanwhile  Natalie  lay  in  her  great  bed  and  talked 
her  heart  out  to  the  air.  When  they  tried  to  give  her 
the  hot  drink,  she  begged  of  them  to  make  it  cold, 
and  once  she  cried  out  so  piercingly  that  Home  came 
up  and  waited  in  the  doorway.  Her  wandering  gaze 
fell  upon  him. 

"  Saint  Christopher !  "  she  called,  "  Saint  Chris 
topher  !  "  again  delightedly,  and  Elinor's  eyes,  too, 
besought  him.  Cassie  was  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  her 
hands  folded,  waiting.  Her  face  was  troubled.  She 
felt  sure  old  Sally  was  doing  the  wrong  thing  with 
her  hot  water  and  her  herbs  ;  but  she  did  not  know. 

"  Never  mind,  Sally,"  said  Home  quietly.  "  Don't 
bother  her.  It  is  n't  long  till  morning." 

Sally  withdrew,  grumbling,  and  Home  took  his 
place  near  Elinor  where  she  stood,  her  hand  on  Nat 
alie's.  Sally  went  out  of  the  room  to  heat  more 
water,  for  nothing  to  her  mind  transcended  a  sweat  ; 
and  Cassie  with  a  comprehending  look  at  the  others 
slowly  followed  her. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  do,"  said  Elinor.  "  There 
are  no  medicines." 

"Has  she  taken  anything?" 

"  Some  milk.  Some  brandy.  I  thought  she  must 
have  food." 


SAINT  CHRISTOPHER  277 

"  Let  her  be  in  peace,  then.  Drummond  will  be 
here  at  seven." 

"  It 's  only  a  little  after  midnight." 

"  We  '11  feed  her  every  hour,  till  morning.  Take 
out  those  water  bags.  Give  her  water,  if  she  wants 
it.  Don't  burn  her  up." 

"  Will  you  stay  ?     Sally  overrides  me." 

"  Yes,  I  '11  stay." 

Elinor  put  the  light  behind  a  screen,  and  they  sat 
down  near  the  outer  side  of  the  bed  and  kept  silence. 
The  room  was  still,  except  for  the  whispering  fire  ; 
and  for  the  moment  Elinor  felt  some  security.  But 
as  she  looked  at  Natalie,  it  departed  from  her.  The 
thin  face,  in  spite  of  the  rose  flush  on  it,  looked  sharp 
and  alien,  framed  in  its  braids  of  shining  hair.  It 
was  not  Natalie,  as  she  had  seen  her  living  about  the 
house.  It  was  like  a  poignant  memory  of  her. 

"  Come  into  the  orchard,"  said  Natalie,  in  a  clear, 
convincing  tone.  "  It  is  all  in  bloom.  The  blooms 
are  white.  They  were  pink  the  year  he  lost  Lor 
raine.  He  said  so.  '  The  apple  blossoms  never  were 
so  pink  as  they  are  now,'  he  said.  That  was  the  year 
he  lost  Lorraine.  We  talked  about  her  in  the  or 
chard.  Her  name  is  written  on  every  tree.  Would 
n't  it  be  funny  "  —  she  laughed  ecstatically —  "  if  every 
bloom  looked  like  Lorraine  ?  He  would  n't  like  that. 
No,  he  wouldn't  like  it.  That  would  hurt  him.  He 
never  could  go  into  the  orchard  then." 

Elinor  bent  her  face  upon  her  hand. 

"  You  must  n't  mind,"  said  Gilbert  softly.  "  It  's 
delirium.  It  is  n't  pain.  She  does  n't  know  what 
she  is  saying." 

The  tears  blinded  her. 


278  THE  MANNERINGS 

"  I  don't  mind  now,"  she  said.  "  I  mind  all  the 
years  when  this  was  coming.  She  may  not  know  it 
now  ;  but  she  knew  then." 

"  Don't  be  sorry,"  said  Gilbert,  though  his  own 
eyes  were  wet. 

"  The  first  time  he  kissed  me  it  was  on  my  hair," 
said  Natalie.  "  But  we  must  n't  tell  those  thing's. 

O 

No  !  they  are  sacred.  They  must  be  hidden.  We  '11 
remember  them  when  we  have  time,  after  he  is  really 
gone.  Would  it  do  any  good  to  pray?  What  could 
we  pray  ?  We  might  ask  God  to  give  Lorraine  a 
heart  of  flesh,  not  a  heart  of  stone.  It  would  be 
so  simple  then.  Then  we  could  say,  '  God,  give  him 
Lorraine  ! '  But  she  must  not  have  a  heart  of  stone. 
That  would  hurt  him  so.  Think !  "  her  voice  fell  into 
awe,  "  how  dreadful  it  would  be.  He  would  put  his 
dear  head  on  her  breast,  and  there  would  be  a  stone 
under  it.  The  stone  would  hurt  him.  Can  you 
pray?"  she  asked  suddenly,  turning  to  Elinor. 

"  Yes,  sweetheart,  yes !  We  '11  all  pray  for  any 
thing  you  want." 

"  Pray  for  that  one  thing  —  a  heart  of  flesh.  Say 
it  after  me,  4  God,  let  him  have  Lorraine  ! '  Only  He 
must  remember  too  —  there  was  something  about  a 
heart  of  flesh  —  a  warm  heart.  I  forget.  God  must 
do  that,  too.  W^e  must  be  careful ;  we  must  have 
warm  hearts." 

It  seemed  as  if  the  night  would  never  end,  but  as 
if  they  two  must  sit  there  forever  hearing  the  inno 
cent  betrayal  of  a  girl's  unhappy  life.  They  gave 
her  drops  of  nourishment,  and  her  delirium  lasted  in 
a  fitful  stream.  It  was  the  more  awful  because  her 
fever  did  not  seem  to  rise.  She  was  even  convincing 


SAINT  CHRISTOPHER  279 

in  the  speech  that  came  concisely  from  her  lips.  She 
lay  in  absolute  quiescence,  with  lax  hands.  Only  her 
brain  seemed  to  be  alive,  and  to  possess  an  awful 
power,  as  if  it  lingered  in  a  dead  body  to  give  tes 
timony  before  it,  too,  should  depart.  Cassie  came 
softly  up,  and  brought  them  food.  The  fragrance  of 
the  coffee  had  preceded  her,  and  Home  was  ready 
with  a  welcoming  smile  and  a  word  "  Good  child  ! " 
Her  hand  trembled  a  little  in  giving  him  the  cup,  but 
she  did  her  task  seriously  and  then  went  away.  There 
were  deep  things  going  on  about  her,  Cassie  knew. 
She  was  not  curious  ;  she  was  not  surprised.  She 
was  trying  to  forget  Cassie  as  a  woman  who  hungered, 
and  did  wrong,  and  to  take  her  innocent  fill  of  ser 
vice  for  Gilbert  Home,  before  the  time  should  come 
when  she  must  go  out  of  his  house  and  leave  him 
there  with  Elinor.  There  was  no  pain  in  the  thought, 
only  a  grave  sorrow,  and  veneration  for  things  that 
were  somehow  beyond  what  she  could  compass. 

The  early  darkness  thickened  into  the  time  when 
all  the  lamps  of  life  burn  low,  and  then  there  came 
the  dawn.  Natalie  was  silent,  though  her  hands 
moved.  Elinor  went  to  the  window,  and  drew  the 
curtains  softly.  The  wind  had  stilled,  yet  she  ex 
pected  to  face  the  storm  in  a  world  where  it  seemed 
to  be  always  snowing.  But  the  first  rays  of  light  came 
from  a  blue  sky  to  a  shining  earth.  It  was  fair  weather. 
She  came  back  to  her  seat,  and  Gilbert  saw  that  for 
some  new  reason  she  looked  assured  and  strong. 

"  You  can  go  now,"  she  said.  "  It  's  daylight.  I 
am  not  afraid." 

"  I  '11  start  John  off  to  the  train.  Are  you  dead 
tired?" 


280  THE  MANNERINGS 

"  I  am  not  tired  at  all." 

He  had  a  look  of  grave  tenderness  that  brought  con 
tentment  to  her  face.  Yet  she  knew  such  softness 
was  in  his  nature  for  whatever  suffered  or  bore  a 
strain.  It  was  for  Natalie  because  she  was  maimed, 
for  Cassie  and  her  faithful  service.  It  was  the  sun 
shine  that  makes  all  plants  grow,  and  not  the  swift 
enfolding  of  any  one  of  them.  But  it  was  sunlight, 
and  very  warm  and  beautiful. 

As  the  clock  struck  seven,  Drummond  came  up  the 
stairs.  Gilbert  was  behind  him,  and  Cassie  lingered 
outside  the  door  like  a  statuesque  messenger,  ready  to 
be  sent  on  errands.  Natalie's  face,  under  the  day 
light,  had  more  of  its  dreadful  unfamiliarity.  It  was 
pinched  about  the  nostrils,  and  the  mouth,  out  of 
which  strange  sayings  had  come,  wore  the  awful 
beauty  of  the  dead.  But  her  fever  rose  again,  and 
flooded  her  face  in  triumph.  She  muttered  to  her 
self,  and  Drummond,  after  long  scrutiny,  turned  to  the 
others  and  asked  incisive  questions.  When  it  came 
to  the  story  of  finding  her  in  the  house  in  the  woods, 
he  asked,  "  How  long  had  she  been  there  ? "  and 
Elinor  remembered  she  did  not  know.  Unless  Nat 
alie  herself  could  sometime  tell  them,  they  would  never 
know. 

"Has  she  had  any  nervous  shock?"  he  asked. 
"  Any  strain  ?  " 

"  She  has  been  under  a  strain  for  a  long  time,"  said 
Elinor. 

He  nodded. 

"  She  has  borne  things,"  said  Elinor.  "  She  has 
kept  still." 

They  stood  aside,  and  left  him  to  his  communion 


SAINT  CHRISTOPHER  281 

with  her  state.  Suddenly  she  opened  her  eyes  and 
looked  at  him. 

"  Dick !  "  she  said.     "  Is  n't  it  wonderful !  " 

He  took  her  hand  in  his. 

"  Yes,  Natalie,"  he  answered,  in  a  smiling  recourse 
to  her  name.  "  Dick." 

"Paradise!"  said  Natalie,  smiling  at  him,  in  a 
great  content.  "  I  was  in  an  orchard  all  green,  all 
over  pink.  And  you  came.  So  you  came,  Dick !  " 
She  made  a  little  beckoning  motion  with  her  head  and 
he  put  his  face  down  to  her.  She  whispered,  "  How 
did  you  get  through  the  snow? " 

"The  snow  is  gone,"  said  Drummond  cheerfully. 
"It's  springtime  now.  Take  this,  Natalie.  Open 
your  mouth.  I  '11  put  it  on  your  tongue.  Take  it 
for  Dick.  There  !  now  a  swallow  of  water.  That 's 
a  good  Natalie  !  " 

She  shut  her  eyes  again,  and  went  murmuring  off 
into  strange  byways  of  the  sense,  and  Drummond  got 
up,  and,  beckoning  Home,  went  with  him  from  the 
room. 

"  Where 's  Dick?  "  he  asked,  outside  the  threshold. 

"  Somewhere  in  Canada." 

"  Oh,  I  know !     Playing  jigs  !  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Send  for  him." 

"  Is  she  in  danger  ?  " 

Drummond  was  fractious,  as  a  man  who  sees  a 
problem  before  him  and  has  breakfasted  on  a  sand 
wich. 

"  Don't  ask  me  that.  You  ought  to  know  better, 
Home.  You  send  for  Dick."  On  the  way  down 
stairs  he  repented  of  his  humor,  and  stopped  at  the 


282  THE   MANNERINGS 

foot  to  add,  "  She  's  used  up,  broken,  shocked  to 
death.  I  '11  go  back  at  ten,  and  send  you  a  nurse. 
But  you  ask  that  lovely  woman  to  come  down  here, 
and  I  '11  give  her  orders  to  carry  out  till  the  nurse 
comes." 

Gilbert  went  up  and  sent  down  Elinor. 


XXVIII 

IN   THE    EAST   CHAMBER 

THE  nurse  came  that  afternoon.  She  looked  like 
a  half-caste  Juno  and  moved  like  Mercury.  Elinor 
noted  the  calm  sweep  of  her  brow  and  the  unfretted 
mouth,  and  took  comfort  in  her,  as  a  woman  too  ab 
sorbed  in  the  case  to  be  for  a  moment  concerned  with 
its  human  history.  The  impersonal  atmosphere  of 
systematic  care  fell  upon  the  room;  Natalie,  lying 
there  in  silence  now,  was  a  patient,  —  nothing  more. 
Elinor  gave  an  account  of  her  tendance  up  to  the  mo 
ment,  and  then  went  down  to  get  her  cloak.  Home 
came  in  at  the  front  door.  He  looked  worried,  as  if 
he  had  been  on  an  unsuccessful  quest.  He  glanced 
into  the  dining-room,  and  finding  the  table  set  for  two, 
said  persuasively,  — 

"  Don't  go  over  there  to  eat.     Stay  here  with  me." 

She  thanked  him  and  demurred. 

"  I  ought  to  go.  I  have  n't  seen  Kate  since  yester 
day." 

"  I  have.  She  knows  it  all  from  Drummond,  too. 
I  told  her  you  would  eat  with  me.  I  want  to  talk  to 
you." 

She  hung  her  cloak  up  again,  and  they  went  out  to 
dinner.  He  drew  her  chair  back,  with  a  grave  cour 
tesy,  and  as  she  seated  herself,  it  seemed  to  her  that 
the  act  was  something  of  a  ceremonial.  There  was  a 


284  THE  MANNERINGS 

conscious  pause  between  them  before  he  sat  down  in 
his  own  place,  and  Cassie  brought  the  soup. 

"  Are  you  tired,  Cassie  ?  "  asked  Elinor,  looking  up 
at  her  with  her  inclusive  smile.  It  was  impossible,  at 
that  moment,  not  to  connect  Cassie  with  everything 
that  might  concern  the  house.  Its  intimacies  seemed 
hers,  she  had  tended  it  so  long.  Her  service  for  it 
and  its  master,  and  her  undying  love,  had  given  her 
rights. 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  said  Cassie.  "  I  'm  not  tired."  And 
having  seen  that  the  table  was  perfect  at  all  points, 
she  went  out  and  left  them  to  themselves. 

Elinor  sat  in  a  maze,  as  if  this  were  still  a  part  of 
last  night's  mystery.  It  was  quite  unreal,  yet  it  was 
like  the  coming  true  of  many  dreams  born  out  of 
hungry  fancy  in  those  old  Italian  days.  One  thing 
was  real.  She  was  breaking  bread  with  him  at  his 
own  table.  However  briefly,  she  had  come  home  at 
last. 

"I've  been  telegraphing  for  Dick,"  said  Horne, 
leaning  back  after  his  soup  and  drumming  a  nervous 
hand  upon  the  cloth. 

"  Then  you  knew  where  to  send  ?  " 

"  I  did  n't  know.  I  've  wired  at  random,  asking 
him  to  answer.  There  is  no  answer." 

"  So  he  's  not  found." 

"  He  is  not  found." 

"  Does  n't  Kate  know  ?  " 

"  Nobody  knows,  since  Toronto.  It 's  what  Madam 
Walsingham  said  —  a  fool's  errand.  They  are  doing 
it  as  erratically  as  they  planned  it.  I  should  n't  won 
der  if  the  fit  had  seized  Lorraine  to  go  abroad,  and 
they  'd  all  sailed  from  Montreal." 


IN  THE  EAST  CHAMBER  285 

"  You  don't  mean  that  ?  "  It  was  a  possibility  be 
yond  anything  she  had  imagined. 

"  I  mean  anything.  There  's  nothing  too  wild  for 
her  to  do,  and  no  path  he  won't  take  after  her." 

Cassie  came  in  and  brought  their  second  course. 
When  she  had  gone  away  again,  Home  took  up  his 
meditating  thread,  as  if  he  were  beside  himself  and 
must  be  talking.  . 

"  He  is  a  fool !  a  fool !  " 

"Your  Eichard?" 

"  Yes,  he  is  a  fool  clear  through.  Can  you  fancy  a 
fellow's  having  a  devotion  like  that  in  his  hand,  and 
not  knowing  he  had  it  ?  " 

"  He  must  have  known  she  loved  him?  " 

"  He  has  known  it  for  years.  That 's  the  trouble. 
It  was  too  humble,  too  unassuming.  It  asked  nothing 
for  itself.  He  took  it  for  granted.  God  !  that  such 
a  fool  could  walk  the  earth!  "  He  ate  savagely,  and 
though  he  talked,  seemed  not  to  notice  her.  Elinor 
understood  that  perfectly ;  she  was  only  a  part  of  his 
surroundings,  the  sympathetic  medium  that  unloosed 
his  tongue.  She  was,  in  some  way,  getting  inside  his 
mind  without  his  knowing  it.  At  once  she  had  a 
boundless  wish  to  stay  there  and  explore.  It  was  like 
entering  a  strange  room  and  reading  the  inscriptions 
on  the  walls.  She  hardly  knew  herself  in  the  grip  of 
that  temptation.  It  was  like  some  mood  of  youth. 

"  He  could  n't  force  himself  to  love  her."  She 
seemed  to  be  talking  to  a  man  in  his  sleep,  and 
prompting  him  to  avowals  he  might  not  even  recall  in 
waking. 

"  It  was  his  business  to  love  her,"  said  Gilbert 
doggedly. 


286  THE  MANNERINGS 

Remonstrant  indignation  woke  in  her. 

"His  business?"  she  flamed.  "No  woman  wants 
a  bargain." 

"  It  was  his  business  to  see  what  kind  of  a  devotion 
she  was  giving  him,  and  treat  it  as  if  it  were  the  most 
precious  thing  on  earth.  He  'd  brought  it  to  life  in  her. 
He  'd  nursed  it  up  and  tended  it.  Then  when  it  was 
full-grown  —  I  can't  talk  about  it.  The  chap 's  a  fool." 

"  Don't  speak  hardly  of  him.  He  's  got  his  blow  to 
meet." 

"  Yes,  she  will  die.  I  don't  doubt  it  for  a  minute. 
Her  life  is  sapped.  She  has  nothing  left  to  live  on." 

Elinor  was  silent,  the  warmth  of  personal  feeling 
all  gone  out  of  her.  His  words  voiced  the  inexorable 
prophecy  at  her  heart.  Natalie  would  die.  They  sat 
brooding  a  moment  over  their  coffee,  and  again  Home 
seemed  oblivious  of  her.  He  was  looking  out  of  the 
window  where  the  day  was  dazzling  in  white  splendor. 
He  spoke  absently,  as  if  to  the  unseen  judges  of  his 
life,- 

"  If  anybody  had  cared  about  me  like  that  —  ever 
—  if  a  woman  had  remembered  me  night  and  day,  as 
Natalie  has  remembered  him,  I  would  have  taught  my 
self  to  worship  her." 

"  Not  if  you  did  n't  worship  her  by  nature."  Her 
silky  voice  broke  harshly.  "  It 's  nature.  Nothing 
else.  You  can't  build  it  up.  You  can't  force  it.  If 
you  did  that,  you  would  murder  it." 

He  answered  gravely. 

"  Yes,  it's  nature ;  but  it 's  something  else,  too. 
Don't  you  see  what  Natalie  has  done  by  this  appalling 
faithfulness  ?  She  has  laid  bonds  on  him.  She  has 
bought  him,  at  a  price.  He  won't  know  it  till  too 


IN  THE   EAST  CHAMBER  287 

late ;  but  she  has  built  up  something  this  solvent  uni 
verse  has  got  to  honor.  I  'm  no  better  chap  than 
Dick ;  but  if  a  woman  had  done  that  for  me,  1  would 
help  her  build.  I  'd  see  what  we  two  could  make  of 
it."  His  eyes  had  a  misty  look,  like  that  of  a  man 
deep  in  some  compelling  dream. 

"  Would  you?  "  asked  Elinor,  with  a  wistful  tender 
ness.  "  Would  you,  Gilbert  Home  ?  " 

In  his  protesting  passion  he  suddenly  seemed  young 
to  her,  a  creature  groping  in  new  ways  because,  at  the 
hour  when  life  had  called  him  first,  he  had  not  listened. 
His  springtime  had  gone  by ;  but  here  he  was  heark 
ening  to  the  echo  of  songs  now  silent,  and  moved  by 
faint  rose  odors  from  petals  in  a  jar. 

He  shook  his  head  impatiently,  as  if  to  dissipate  the 
enfolding  dream,  and  his  gaze  came  back  to  her.  This 
was  the  recognizing  look  of  one  who  deals  with  fact. 
The  smile  she  sometimes  thought  he  kept  for  her  alone 
came  upon  his  face  and  warmed  it. 

"  I  have  been  talking  nonsense,"  he  said.  "  We  're 
all  more  or  less  crazy.  It 's  no  wonder,  after  last 
night.  And  it  does  n't  matter.  Nothing  matters  till 
this  thing  has  passed." 

Some  one  came  in  at  the  front  door.  There  was  a 
step  in  the  hall,  and  by  one  accord  they  rose  to  meet 
it.  All  their  senses  were  on  edge  with  expectation  of 
some  news  from  Dick.  But  it  was  Katharine;  and 
Home,  after  a  word  or  two,  went  away  to  the  barn  and 
left  the  two  women  together.  Katharine  was  pale. 
She,  too,  had  been  keeping  vigil. 

"  I  was  coming,"  began  Elinor. 

"  Don't  go  yet.  Stay  here  and  talk  a  little  before 
I  see  her.  I  must  see  Natalie." 


288  THE  MANNERINGS 

They  went  into  the  library  and  sat  down,  hand  in 
hand,  on  the  long  couch  between  the  windows. 

"  How  is  the  captain  ?  "  asked  Elinor. 

"  He  is  palsied,  Nell.  He  can't  speak.  Yet  I  don't 
believe  he  suffers.  But  Brice  —  he  is  beside  himself." 

"  Poor  fellow  !  " 

"  There  is  no  hope  for  his  father ;  but  Brice  won't 
give  up.  He  acts  as  if  it  were  the  acute  illness  of  a 
younger  man.  He  begs  Doctor  Druminond  to  save 
him.  He  keeps  saying  to  me,  4 1  can't  live  without  my 
father.'  But  Natalie  ?  Tell  me,  Nell." 

"  Natalie  is  very  sick." 

"  Gilbert  Home  has  told  me  how  you  found  her. 
He  said  I  must  n't  talk  about  it  while  you  were  so 
tired.  Nell,  did  I  do  it  ?  I  told  her  Brice  had  lost 
her  money.  Did  that  turn  her  brain  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  turned  it  at  the  last.  But  it 
was  no  sudden  thing,  Kate.  Natalie  has  been  worn 
out  for  a  long  time." 

"  But  she  was  calm,  Nell,  always  calm.  When  I 
used  to  rage  within  me,  I  would  look  at  Natalie  and 
think  how  calm  she  was." 

"  I  don't  believe  Natalie  was  ever  calm." 

"  She  was,  Nell,  she  was !  She  was  always  potter 
ing  round  doing  little  things,  watering  her  plants,  put 
ting  on  new  dresses  for  Dick.  She  never  seemed  to 
have  many  interests,  but  they  were  tiny  interests,  like 
a  child's.  I  must  see  her.  I  can't  believe  this  hide 
ous  thing  unless  I  see  her." 

As  they  rose  from  their  place,  Home  drove  by  the 
window.  He  was  going  to  telegraph  again  for  Dick. 
They  stole  softly  up  the  stairs,  where  the  babble  of 
Natalie's  voice  had  begun  again,  and  was  going  on 


IN  THE   EAST  CHAMBER  289 

unceasingly.  The  nurse  turned  at  the  rustle  of  their 
gowns,  holding  up  a  hand.  Then  she  came  out  to 
them  and,  after  brief  questioning  and  answers,  went 
to  her  dinner.  When  she  had  gone,  they  stole  in  and 
stood  by  the  bedside.  Elinor  was  amazed  at  the 
grief  in  Katharine's  face.  Katharine  was  not  the 
woman  for  tears  ;  yet  tears  were  there.  The  sight  of 
Natalie  had  touched  some  chord  in  her,  unused  to 
thrilling.  Maternity  spoke  loudly,  and  moved  her  to 
bewildered  listening.  Natalie  was  in  her  twenties  ; 
yet,  lying  there,  she  looked  pathetically  young.  Her 
beautiful  hair  still  framed  her  face,  from  which  the 
lines  of  pain  were  smoothed  away.  Her  small  hands 
lay  outside  the  coverlet  in  supine  laxity,  palms  up 
ward,  the  fingers  curled  like  petals. 

"  He  will  not  come  back  !  "  she  called  suddenly,  in 
such  a  clear  insistence  that  the  two  women  started. 
"  There  is  a  dark  country.  Lorraine  will  lead  him  into 
the  dark  country.  If  it  were  light  there,  he  might  go. 
There  were  two  sisters,  and  one  had  everything.  She 
had  little  feet,  and  a  red  mouth,  and  Dick  loved  her. 
The  other  had  nothing  but  pretty  hair  —  yes,  she  had 
pretty  hair.  He  seemed  to  love  her  for  a  little  while. 
A  little  while  —  and  then  there  were  years  and  years 
and  no  more  love.  4  Oh,  for  the  wings  of  a  dove  ' ' 
—  she  sang  it  in  her  thin  sweet  voice,  and,  reaching 
for  a  note,  she  stopped  upon  it  and  began  again. 
That  happened  over  and  over,  until  she  fell  into  one 
of  her  long  silences.  When  she  began  afresh,  it  was 
with  a  convincing  reasonableness.  "  To  be  alone  for 
years  and  years  and  years  !  It  is  a  great  world, 
and  one  girl  alone  in  it !  And  so  many  stars,  and 
one  girl  on  every  star  !  There  has  been  pain  enough 


290  THE  MANNERINGS 

—  and  lonesomeness.  God !  there  has  been  pain 
enough !  " 

Elinor  had  walked  to  the  window,  and  stood  there 
looking  out  on  the  splendid  day.  Katharine  came  to 
her  in  a  moment,  and  looked  out  also,  breathing  hard. 

"  I  can't  listen  to  her,"  said  Elinor.  "  I  can't  let 
anybody  listen.  It  is  horrible.  It  is  indecent.  It 
is  as  if  her  poor  soul  lay  there  naked,  and  we  saw  it." 

"  Nell,"  Katharine  spoke  in  a  rapid  undertone.  "  I 
never  knew  her.  I  lived  with  her  all  those  years  and 
never  knew  her.  Little  Natalie  !  I  thought  of  her 
a*  little  Natalie,  when  I  thought  at  all.  But  I  never 
thought  about  her  much." 

"  When  you  go  down,  tell  the  nurse  to  take  a  walk, 
&  nap,  anything.  I  '11  stay  here.  This  may  pass.  I 
can't  have  that  stranger  in  the  room." 

"  He  ought  to  know,"  said  Katharine,  while  the 
voice  rose  again  in  supplication  for  the  wings  of  a 
dove. 

"  Dick?  he  will,  if  Gilbert  Home  can  find  him." 

"  He  must  know  soon.  She  must  be  saved."  But 
AS  she  said  it,  the  same  words  from  other  lips  came  to 
her  memory.  "  Poor  Brice  !  "  she  added.  "  That 's 
what  he  says  about  his  father.  *  He  must  be  saved ! ' 
But  Natalie !  She  shall  not  slip  away  from  us  like 
this.  We  must  save  Natalie." 


XXIX 

THE    STABS 

KATHARINE  was  by  the  fire  alone  that  night,  rest 
ing  for  an  hour  and  thinking  of  Natalie.  The  girl's 
trouble  had  opened  a  door,  and  through  that  the  woman 
saw  sights  amazing  to  her.  Rather  it  opened  many 
doors.  There  was  the  way  of  love  :  for  now  that  Nat 
alie  was  going  on  this  mysterious  journey,  she  seemed 
to  have  been  very  sweet  in  her  unregarded  life,  like  a 
part  of  the  day's  comfort  we  grow  used  to  and  never 
consider  until  it  is  lost.  Katharine  had  a  great  de 
sire  to  pluck  the  child  back  from  this  clouded  path. 
She  had  remorseful  pain  because  she  had  not  seen 
which  way  things  were  tending,  and  like  all  her  grief  ss 
this  was  tempestuous.  Her  sorrows  were  always  per 
sonal.  They  rocked  the  universe  because  she  had  made 
herself  the  centre.  She  judged  all  life  in  reference 
to  her  own,  and  when  the  great  scheme  failed  to  fit 
her  small  desires,  she  raged  against  it.  But  now  at 
la,st  she  had  been  torn  out  of  her  own  battleground 
to  a  solitude  where  another  soul  had  fought  in  silence, 
and  fervor  flamed  up  in  her  to  join  that  losing  bat 
tle.  At  moments  she  felt  as  if  she  might  wrestle 
with  the  powers  of  death  for  Natalie,  and  then  the 
picture  of  the  child,  quiescent  there,  brought  sad  de 
nial.  Her  own  great  strength  stood  up  and  laughed 
at  her,  like  Hercules  refusing  tasks.  Death  seemed 


292  THE  MANNERINGS 

already  to  have  sent  his  messenger.  The  potentate 
must  have  his  will.  If  she  should  struggle  with  him, 
Natalie,  between  them,  would  be  the  sooner  broken. 
Life  smote  her  with  its  call  to  action.  She  had 
learned  the  lesson  of  haste  :  to  deal  justly  and  do  ten 
derly  toward  what  we  love,  lest  it  slip  into  some  of 
the  hidden  ways  of  being,  and  be  lost. 

Cassie  was  at  the  library  door.  She  had  come  in 
through  the  kitchen  and  stood  waiting,  her  red  shawl 
fallen  from  her  head  and  her  hair  blown  a  little  by 
the  wind.  A  subdued  serenity  lay  upon  her  and  haste 
also :  the  haste  to  set  her  feet  in  appointed  paths  and 
do  service  while  she  might. 

"  I  thought  I  'd  go  up  and  sit  a  spell  with  old  Mr. 
Mannering,"  she  explained.  "  I  could  spare  a  couple 
of  hours." 

"  How  is  she,  Cassie  ?  " 

"  Just  the  same.     Doctor  Drummond  's  come." 

"What  does  he  say?" 

"  Nothing.     He  sits  and  watches  her." 

"  Will  Miss  Thayer  stay  ?  " 

"  I  guess  so.  Natalie  's  got  hold  of  her  hand." 
Cassie  had  always  followed  decorous  custom  in  her 
country  speech;  but  now  the  barriers  had  broken 
down.  The  sick  girl  was  just  Natalie. 

"  If  you  will  stay  awhile  !  "  said  Katharine  grate 
fully.  "  Ask  Mr.  Mannering  to  let  you." 

Presently  he  came,  and  in  that  time  she  had  pre 
pared  herself  to  meet  him  understandingly.  The 
physical  antagonisms  of  life  had  loosed  their  old  im 
perious  grip.  He  was  a  man  in  trouble,  sharing, 
somehow,  because  it  was  trouble,  the  pain  that  touched 
her  when  she  thought  of  Natalie.  When  he  came  in, 


THE  STARS  293 

she  rose  and  piled  the  pillows  for  him,  as  she  had  seen 
him  do  it  for  himself. 

"  Lie  down,  Brice,"  she  said  gently.  "  Get  a  little 
nap." 

But  he  came  forward  to  the  fire,  and  took  his 
father's  chair.  He  put  his  hands  upon  it  as  if  they 
caressed  it,  and  his  eyes  were  wet.  These  hours  of 
watching  had  undone  him.  He  had  shrunken  ;  his 
face  had  faded  into  a  soft,  unhealthy  pallor.  There 
were  new  lines  in  it,  and  the  eyes,  ministrants  of 
meanings  he  never  had,  had  taken  on  a  most  appeal 
ing  misery. 

"  Drummond  has  got  to  do  something  for  my 
father,"  he  began. 

"  Your  father  is  an  old  man,  Brice."  She  spoke 
kindly,  to  lead  him  toward  sharp  certainties  with  as 
little  pain  as  might  be.  "  Think  how  old  he  is  !  " 

"  What 's  that  for  a  man  of  his  physique  ?  He  's 
got  five  good  years  before  him,  if  he  's  taken  care  of. 
Five  ?  Yes,  ten  !  Drummond  won't  do  anything. 
That  's  where  it  lies." 

"  Perhaps  it 's  better  not  to  fret  your  father.  He 
is  quite  comfortable.  He  has  no  pain.  If  he  could 
slip  away  like  this  "  , 

"  He  need  n't  slip  away  at  all,"  said  Mannering 
sharply.  "  Drummond  has  got  to  try  something 
different.  Why  don't  they  use  electricity?  stimu 
lants  ?  There  must  be  something.  It  stands  to  rea 
son.  Drummond  thinks  he  's  an  old  man.  He  thinks 
it  won't  pay.  That 's  the  trouble." 

"  You  have  been  very  faithful  to  your  father." 
She  was  seeking  at  random  for  some  friendly  word. 

He  answered  eagerly. 


294  THE   MANNERINGS 

"  We  must  take  care  of  him,  Katie,  you  and  I. 
We  won't  let  anybody  come  near  him.  I  don't  mind 
Cassie.  He  's  used  to  her.  My  father  shan't  wake 
up  and  find  a  stranger  standing  over  him." 

"  We  '11  do  all  we  can,  Brice."  She  was  wonder 
ing  whether  he  even  remembered  the  scene  before  his 
father's  illness,  and  whether  the  old  man,  hearing 
the  strife  below  stairs  and  sharing  the  tension  of  the 
moment,  had  been  stricken  sooner.  Brice  had  never 
told  her.  But  he  spoke  now  as  if  he  might  be  an 
swering  that  unspoken  query. 

"  It 's  strange  how  some  things  happen." 

"Yes." 

"  Strange  how  this  happened !  " 

"  Tell  me  how  it  was,  Brice." 

"  I  had  been  talking  to  him,  that 's  all ;  and  then  I 
found  him.  But  it 's  the  whole  business  that  's  mys 
terious.  Now  look  at  father  !  The  wish  of  his  life 
was  about  to  be  fulfilled.  We  were  going  abroad, 
passages  engaged,  business  all  settled.  But  it  was  n't 
to  be." 

Her  heart  beat  fast  with  the  desire  to  spur  him  on 
to  full  betrayal.  To  her  bewildered  fancy  it  seemed, 
as  it  often  had  when  they  c,ame  to  open  issue,  that 
what  had  gone  before  had  no  more  meaning  than  if 
he  had  erased  it  from  his  brain.  On  that  night  of 
disaster,  they  had  reached  the  very  whirlwind  of  pas 
sion,  and  now  he  was  dribbling  on  about  the  cause  of 
it  as  if  nothing  but  serene  weather  lay  behind. 

"  Where  had  you  planned  to  go,  Brice  ?  "  she  ven 
tured.  "  To  Greece  ?  " 

"  Yes.  We  had  n't  much  time  to  talk  the  trip  over, 
but  I  meant  to  take  a  courier.  There  was  money 


THE   STARS  295 

enough.  Poor  father  !  —  money  enough,  but  there 
might  as  well  not  be,  for  all  the  good  it  will  do  him." 

Katharine  picked  up  a  fallen  brand  with  the  tongs, 
and  settled  it,  using  an  elaborate  care.  Her  face  was 
flaming,  partly  with  curiosity,  and  partly  shame  at 
her  own  determination  to  know  him  now  entirely. 
In  her  softened  mood,  with  sickness  here  and  death 
waiting  outside  the  door,  she  was  prepared  to  be  a 
lenient  judge.  Some  unspoken  mandate  bade  her 
even  consider  whether  she  must  not  endure  existence 
with  him  again  because  she  had  once  accepted  it. 
But  she  would  know  the  man  before  she  took  his 
hand  and  set  her  pace  to  his.  There  should  be  no 
more  accusations  and  satirical  portraits  done  to  feed 
her  scorn.  Before  they  tried  again  to  live  a  life  to 
gether,  she  must  see  what  manner  of  thing1  he  in 
tended  it  to  be.  Her  gaze  was  on  the  fire  when  she 
spoke  again.  Though  he  was  to  be  condemned  out 
of  his  own  mouth,  she  would  not  surprise  the  involun 
tary  betrayal  of  his  face. 

"  How  long  did  you  mean  to  stay  abroad  ?  "  she 
asked. 

He  listened  a  moment  to  Cassie's  step  in  the  room 
above.  Then,  as  it  ceased,  he  answered  easily,  as  if 
the  matter  were  quite  simple  to  him,  — 

"  It  would  have  depended  on  father.  I  was  pre 
pared  not  to  come  back  at  all." 

"  You  thought  he  would  prefer  to  live  there  ?  " 

"  Yes.  He  had  a  kind  of  a  weakness  for  Greece, 
you  know,  antiquities,  that  sort  of  thing.  Father  was 
a  great  classical  scholar.  He  knew  the  whole  thing 
from  beginning  to  end  —  mythology  and  all  —  old 
stories,  you  know,  gods  and  goddesses," 


296  THE  MANNERINGS 

She  looked  at  him  sharply.  The  inflections  were 
so  like  his  father's,  in  the  same  form  of  words,  that 
she  half  expected  to  see  him  thirty  years  older,  his 
beard  silvered  and  senility  fallen  upon  him.  But 
Brice  was  shaking  his  head  sadly,  and  looking  into 
the  flames. 

"  You  said  you  meant  to  leave  Willard  in  charge 
of  the  business,"  she  continued. 

"  Yes,  trusty  boy !  You  could  always  depend  on 
Willard.  He  was  to  send  me  funds,  as  the  accounts 
came  in.  Well!  well!  It's  over  now.  Poor  fa 
ther  !  " 

There  was  silence  between  them  until  Katharine 
spoke  again.  A  sharp  meaning  stirred  her  voice,  yet 
it  startled  her  alone. 

"  Brice,  has  anybody  told  you  Natalie  is  sick  ?  " 

But  he  was  musing  into  the  fire.  He  looked  like 
the  captain  in  one  of  his  lethargies. 

"  Natalie  ?     What 's  the  matter  with  Natalie  ?  " 

"  She  has  had  a  good  deal  of  fever."  It  was  not 
possible  to  tell  him  more.  "  I  think  she  is  in  dan- 
ger." 

"  She  'd  better  be  moved  up  into  the  third  story. 
I  can't  have  them  disturbing  father." 

"  She  's  over  at  Gilbert  Home's.  She  will  stay 
there." 

"  You  're  a  good  girl,  Kate,"  he  said,  warming  to 
her.  "You  fixed  that  up  to  save  my  father." 

"  Brice,  she  is  in  danger.     She  may  die." 

"  No,  she  '11  pull  through.  She  's  young,"  he  said 
absently.  "  It 's  the  old  that  have  got  to  go."  There 
was  a  bitterness  of  envy  in  his  tone.  It  seemed  as  if 
he  would  have  warmed  his  father's  blood  by  draining 


THE   STARS  297 

Natalie's.  "  I  '11  tell  you  what  it  is,  Katie,"  he  said 
at  length,  "  there  's  no  such  thing  as  looking  ahead  in 
this  world.  You  want  something  when  you  're  young, 
and  talk  and  think  and  plan  —  and  when  you  get  it 
you  can't  enjoy  it.  Poor  father  !  " 

Again  he  dropped  off  into  musing,  and  then  re 
called  himself,  staring  his  eyes  awake. 

"  My  father  was  a  great  classical  scholar,"  he  re 
peated,  with  a  pride  inflated  since  he  used  the  words 
before.  He  seemed  to  be  delivering  a  panegyric  to 
ears  prepared  for  credulous  hearing.  "  We  were 
very  united  in  our  tastes.  We  read  together,  con 
stantly.  His  mind  was  in  the  past.  If  he  had  writ 
ten  down  some  of  the  things  he  used  to  say,  the  world 
would  have  recognized  him.  But  Drummond  will  do 
something  more  than  he  has  done,  or  he  '11  hear  from 
me."  Moved  by  the  sharpness  of  that  conclusion, 
he  rose,  stretched  himself  and  turned  to  go  upstairs. 
"  I  believe  I  '11  send  Cassie  home,"  he  said.  "  Drum 
mond  will  be  in.  I  want  to  be  there  myself.  Will 
you  come  up,  along  in  the  night  ?  " 

"  I  '11  come  at  twelve,"  said  Katharine. 

When  he  was  gone  she  rose,  and  stood  over  the  fire 
for  a  moment  of  self-communion.  It  occurred  to  her 
again,  as  it  had  of  late,  that  she  might  not  have  found 
in  any  vivid  nature  the  surprises  which  awaited  her 
in  his.  When  she  tried  to  understand  his  acceptance 
of  the  present  moment  without  reference  to  the  past  or 
future,  her  intelligence  stopped  short.  Certain  dis 
tinctions  were  probably  not  to  be  expected  of  him, 
for  they  did  not  exist.  She  glanced  at  the  darkened 
windows,  and  then,  because  her  soul  fought  within  her 
and  air  was  more  desirable  than  sleep,  she  got  her 


298  THE   MANNERINGS 

cloak  and  went  out  into  the  driveway  and  down  the 
road.  The  night  was  thick  with  stars.  Logging 
teams  had  ground  the  roadway  into  a  shining  track. 
Katharine  continued  down  the  hill,  not  fast  as  she  had 
sometimes  fled,  stung  by  her  thoughts,  but  slowly, 
now  and  then  stopping  to  look  up  and  regard  the 
greater  worlds  above.  She  had  at  that  instant  some 
new  comprehension  of  Home's  meaning  when  he  told 
her  once  that  the  night  was  his  real  daytime.  Not 
an  imaginative  woman,  her  feet  were  constrained  to 
walk  upon  the  earth,  to  fall  into  error  there,  byways 
of  doubt  and  misbelief.  But  it  came  upon  her  over 
whelmingly  as  old  truth  does  sometimes,  like  a  new 
avowal,  that  the  earth  is  not  all.  This  was  no  vision 
of  a  waiting  heaven.  It  was  the  certainty  of  many 
heavens  in  immensity  of  space.  By  day,  in  her  usual 
habitudes,  hot  blood  and  robust  health  had  kept  her 
thoughts  on  Katharine  Mannering.  Now  Katharine 
Mannering  had  dwindled  to  an  atom.  What  she  de 
sired  made  no  more  impression  on  the  universe  than  a 
wandering  breeze.  Suddenly  there  came  to  her  a  mo 
ment's  remembrance  of  the  constraining  of  beautiful 
souls:  how  they  work  their  will  upon  the  universe 
since  they  desire  the  right.  She  thought  of  Elinor 
with  a  yearning  love,  because  she  was  gentle  and 
seemed  not  to  seek  things  for  herself  alone,  and  of 
Natalie,  and  sobbed  out  there  in  the  darkness  be 
cause  Natalie  had  loved  much  and  demanded  nothing. 
The  heaviest  fetters  seemed  like  gossamer,  because 
the  greater  life,  the  life  of  all  men  and  all  women, 
might  bind  her  to  the  wearing  of  them.  She  turned 
back  homeward,  and  still  kept  stopping  to  look  at 
the  stars,  beseeching  them,  in  her  heart,  not  to  let 


THE   STARS  299 

her  forget  nor  to  disobey  this  one  great  moment  in 
the  rush  of  little  ones.  There  was  no  definite  de 
cision  in  her  mind.  She  did  not  swear  to  keep  her 
oath  to  Brice ;  but  she  did  homage  to  the  oath  that 
conies  with  birth  into  a  mortal  world  —  the  vow 
that  makes  us  faithful.  Little  things  looked  very 
near  and  tender  to  her.  She  had  pity  for  Brice  be 
cause  he  seemed  to  suffer  so ;  though  old  disbelief 
translated  his  pain  into  that  dual  egotism  born  of 
his  life  with  his  father  and  called  filial  love.  Yet 
here  she  checked  herself.  How  should  she  guess 
what  complexion  that  love  wore  in  Brice,  whom 
she  had  never  known  at  all,  save  in  his  outward 
habit? 

Returning,  she  did  not  stop  at  her  own  gate,  but 
kept  on,  through  Home's  driveway,  to  get  news  of 
Natalie.  But  when  she  reached  the  steps  she  paused 
there  at  the  sight  of  Gilbert  Home  sitting  by  his 
table,  alone  and  idle.  Yet  no  man  ever  looked  less 
unoccupied,  though  his  hands  and  eyes  were  still. 
His  face  was  set  in  the  stern  lines  of  one  who  grap 
ples  with  great  questions.  Was  he  thinking  of  Nat 
alie  and  the  present  hour?  or  did  his  mind  travel 
long  roads  toward  his  own  past  and  the  ways  that  led 
him  to  this  time  ?  She  turned  away,  abashed  at  her 
espial,  somehow  forbidden  to  rouse  him  from  that 
deep  communion.  Nor  could  she  even  hear  of  Nat 
alie.  The  sight  of  him  had  suddenly  recalled  her 
from  heavenly  mandates  and  a  mystic  peace.  She 
went  home,  her  heart  beating  fast  and  her  soul  refus 
ing  to  think  011  what  must  forever  be  denied  her, 
but  for  which  she  would  not  cease  to  cry  until  small 
obediences  had  wrought  out  great  renunciations.  She 


300  THE  MANNERINGS 

looked  up  at  the  stars  again  before  the  door  closed 
behind  her,  and  they  had  not,  even  to  her  blurred 
vision,  changed.  They  required  something  of  her,  ir 
respective  of  the  way  her  blood  ran  or  her  pulses 
beat  Of  her,  a  mortal,  they  demanded  immortality. 


XXX 

THE   MESSENGER 

NOBODY  but  Brice  thought  much  about  the  old 
captain,  lying  inert  above,  save  with  a  moderate  con 
cern  :  for  Natalie  was  dying.  Drummond  was  there, 
and  Elinor,  with  him  at  the  bedside,  knew  he  had 
formed  his  verdict,  though  he  would  not  give  it. 
Gilbert  Home,  pacing  back  and  forth  in  his  library, 
knew,  and  so  did  Cassie,  going  on  swift  errands,  and 
Katharine,  waiting  outside  the  chamber  door.  It  was 
amazing  that  one  who  had  roused  so  little  interest 
while  she  lived  should  have  caused  a  tempest  at  her 
going.  The  fever  had  left  her.  She  spoke  no  more, 
nor  did  her  eyelids  lift  at  all,  even  when  the  nurse 
moved  her  slightly,  or  Elinor  put  a  hand  over  the 
slender  one  lying  outside  the  sheet.  Elinor  found 
herself  thinking  wild  thoughts  that  swept  her  brain 
and  were  away  again  before  they  could  be  recognized 
or  judged.  The  memory  of  Natalie's  eyes  held  her 
hurrying  fancy.  They  had  been  dark  with  fever  ;  but 
now  with  white  lids  over  them  and  lashes  resting  in 
a  penciled  line,  they  were,  like  invisible  witnesses, 
the  more  terrible.  She  dreaded  lest  the  lids  should 
rise  and  the  pupils  front  them  all  in  accusation.  For 
Natalie,  drifting  somewhere  out  beyond  their  reach, 
seemed  to  accuse  not  them  perhaps,  but  earth,  mor 
tality,  for  leaving  her  so  long  untended.  The  life 


302  THE  MANNERINGS 

that  stirred  in  her  was  very  small.  Her  breath  flick 
ered,  and  Drummond,  his  mouth  a  savage  line,  fed 
her  with  stimulants  by  drops  and  looked  at  nobody. 
To  that  grim  conclave  between  him  and  death,  even 
the  nurse  was  not  admitted. 

The  evening  wore  on  to  eleven,  and  Gilbert  Home, 
still  by  himself  downstairs,  except  at  the  moments 
when  Cassie  stole  in  to  give  him  the  last  news,  began 
to  dread  the  morning,  that  ebbing  time  when  the  souls 
of  men  are  stronger  than  their  bodies,  and  it  is  easier 
to  slip  away.  He  was  not  fanciful,  but  he  had  cer 
tain  fears  connected  with  this  illness.  All  but  one 
had  been  fulfilled,  and  that  last  spectre  he  awaited  : 
Natalie  would  die  before  the  dawn.  He  went  to  the 
window  and  put  aside  the  curtain.  It  was  dark,  and 
he  cursed  himself  for  the  womanish  fancy  that  the 
child  must  not  be  wafted  out  into  a  night  like  this. 
There  was  a  step  without.  It  hurried  on  the  walk 
and  took  the  veranda  at  a  stride.  The  front  door 
flung  open,  and  Gilbert,  at  the  sound,  went  into  the 
hall  to  say  there  must  be  no  noise.  There  was  Dick. 
He  was  haggard  and,  in  spite  of  the  cold,  ashen  to 
his  lips.  He  was  overspread  with  the  pallor  born  of 
fright,  like  a  man  come  through  great  haste  or  dan 
ger.  He  stood  there,  not  taking  off  his  coat  or  hat, 
as  if  he  must  hasten  further. 

"  I  went  over  there  first,"  he  said.  "  The  house 
seemed  empty.  Are  they  here  ?  " 

"  Take  off  your  coat,  boy,"  said  Gilbert  gently, 
temporizing. 

Dick  mechanically  took  off  his  hat,  and  stood  with 
it  in  his  hand,  awaiting  orders. 

"  Gil,"  he  said,  "  where  's  Natalie  ?  " 


THE   MESSENGER  303 

Gilbert  laid  hold  of  his  coat  and  began  to  pull  it  off. 
Dick  submitted,  but  when  he  had  shaken  himself  free, 
he  said  savagely, 

"  Why  don't  you  tell  me  ?     Where  is  Natalie  ?  " 

"  Old  man,  Natalie  's  been  sick." 

"  Been  sick  ?     I  knew  it." 

"You  got  my  messages?"  Gilbert  was  conscious 
of  the  futility  of  his  phrases,  spoken  only  to  gain  time. 

"  I  got  no  messages.  I  came  because  —  Gil,  she  's 
been  calling  me.  We  were  in  western  New  York. 
I  came  as  fast  as  I  could."  He  sank  into  the  hall 
chair,  and  stared  before  him.  He  looked  like  a  man 
who  had  neither  eaten  nor  slept.  Presently  he  glanced 
up  with  a  smile  upon  his  ashen  lips. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  why  don't  you  tell  me  when  she 
died?" 

«  Died  ?     She  is  n't  dead." 

He  came  to  his  feet. 

"Where  is  she?" 

"  Here,  Dick.  In  the  east  room.  Don't  hope  for 
anything !  Dick,  it 's  almost  over !  " 

Dick  was  halfway  up  the  stairs,  and  the  words  fol 
lowed  him.  They  had  a  cruel  emphasis,  set  there  to 
make  him  stay.  But  he  went  on  as  if  he  had  not 
heard,  and  Gilbert  was  behind.  When  he  reached 
the  door,  there  was  Katharine.  She  stretched  out  a 
hand  to  hold  him,  but  he  did  not  see  it.  He  was  in 
the  room,  and  Elinor,  looking  up,  thought,  "  Here  is 
Hercules  come  to  help."  But  she  knew  it  was  in  vain. 

Dick  halted  a  step  from  the  bedside,  and  Drum- 
mond  shook  his  head  with  the  absorption  of  the  officer 
in  command  ;  but  Dick,  not  minding  him,  stepped  past 
him,  and,  kneeling,  put  his  hand  on  Natalie's.  II o 


304  THE  MANNERINGS 

gathered  it  up  into  his  own,  as  if,  warming  it,  he 
would  warm  her  body  also,  and  Drummond,  since  he 
was  there,  moved  a  little  and  accepted  him.  Gilbert 
Horne  brought  a  chair  for  Katharine,  and  she  sat 
there  in  the  hall  window  and  waited,  while  he  sat  at 
the  other  end  of  the  table,  waiting  also.  They  were 
like  mute  mourners.  With  their  bowed  heads  they 
looked  acquiescent,  and  Elinor,  with  a  sudden  rising 
of  the  heart  now  that  Dick  had  come,  wondered  why 
they  should  submit.  Why  was  not  all  the  spiritual 
force  in  this  little  company  spending  itself  to  keep  her 
here,  instead  of  saying  farewell  with  dignity  ?  Read 
ing  Dick's  haggard  face  and  the  deadly  will  in  it,  she 
realized  that  he  was  fighting  as  Drummond  had  fought, 
and  set  her  own  soul  to  stand  beside  them.  Natalie's 
sleeve  had  fallen  back  a  little,  and  bared  the  delicate 
wrist.  Dick  put  his  other  hand  upon  it,  and  once  he 
laid  his  cheek  there.  But  he  gave  that  over,  and  fixed 
his  eyes  upon  the  lowered  lids.  They  were  all  wrong 
about  him,  those  who  saw  him.  It  was  neither  grief 
nor  fear  of  losing  her  that  seamed  his  face  into  a  mask 
they  hardly  knew.  It  was  immutable  resolve.  His 
young  beauty  had  passed  by ;  he  was  a  man  of  strength, 
filled  with  the  force  that  goes  to  battles  and  world- 
conquering.  The  man  in  him  was  broad  awake,  and 
the  man  was  fighting.  A  thousand  memories  they 
never  knew  arose  like  warriors  and  made  his  army. 
She  had  laid  bonds  upon  him  indeed,  as  Gilbert  Horne 
had  said,  in  her  long  love.  There  had  been  an  in 
effable  welding  of  the  spirit,  and  he,  now  he  was 
come,  knew  he  had  some  power  over  her  and  forbade 
her  soul  to  go  alone.  At  least  he  might  detain  her 
for  an  hour. 


THE  MESSENGER  305 

"  Stay  a  little !  "  his  heart  implored  her.  "  Stay  a 
little  !  " 

The  time  went  on  to  midnight,  and  then  crept. 
Gilbert  took  out  his  watch  and  waited  for  the  hours 
he  dreaded.  Then,  as  if  it  urged  the  hand  to  note  it, 
he  put  his  watch  back  into  his  pocket,  and  denied  him 
self  the  knowledge.  Three  or  four  times  Katharine 
went  in  and  begged  Elinor,  by  noiseless  invitation,  to 
go  out  and  let  her  place  be  taken.  But  Elinor  would 
not.  She  looked  as  stern  as  the  two  men.  Her  face 
had  settled  into  lines,  austere  and  lovely. 

The  dim  hours  of  morning  came  and  silently  stole 
by.  Gilbert  felt  them  go  like  foes  withdrawing  for 
another  onslaught.  Dick,  as  if  impatience  overcame 
him,  laid  his  lips  upon  Natalie's  palm.  Even  so,  he 
seemed  to  breathe  life  into  her.  Drummond,  worn 
with  the  night,  looked  up,  when  some  one  carried  out 
the  lamp  because  daylight  had  come ;  he  shook  his 
head,  bewildered,  as  if  in  his  vigil  on  that  dark  battle 
ground,  he  had  forgotten  day.  The  cold  dawn  bright 
ened.  It  was  in  every  thought,  in  a  different  fashion, 
that  her  going  was  not  to  be  quite  yet,  and  that  they 
might  disperse  briefly,  to  rest  their  anxious  minds, 
when  a  shaft  of  light  struck  the  white  mantel,  and  lay 
there  trembling.  Elinor  regarded  it  with  that  incredu 
lity  we  give  the  beauties  of  the  world  when  they  are 
no  longer  significant,  save  to  hurt  the  heart.  A  breath 
recalled  her.  It  was  from  Dick.  He  was  looking  at 
Natalie,  his  face  ablaze  with  hope  and  wonder,  and 
Natalie's  eyes  were  open.  They  rested  absently  upon 
the  shaft  of  light.  It  was  that  strangest  gaze  in  life, 
the  look  that  comes  before  the  leaving  of  it.  The  eyes 
were  not  like  Natalie's,  with  colored  beams  and  all  the 


306  THE  MANNERINGS 

wonder  of  the  yellow  iris.  They  were  dark ;  the  fix 
ity  of  their  gaze  held  solemn  awe.  There  was  great 
silence  in  the  room.  It  had  seemed  before  as  if  they 
were  all  still,  but  now  Elinor  felt  the  beating  of  her 
heart,  and  choked  under  it.  The  next  instant  even 
Drummond  started  slightly,  and  then  held  up  his  hand 
for  silence.  Dick  had  spoken. 

"  Natalie  !  "  he  said  softly,  near  her  cheek.  "  Look 
at  me,  Natalie  !  " 

A  little  flutter  touched  her  eyelids.  Her  gaze  re 
laxed.  He  put  his  hand  to  her  cheek  and  moved  her 
head  on  the  pillow  so  that  his  face  might  fill  her  vision. 
They  were  fronting  each  other,  their  eyes  looking  deep, 
pupil  within  pupil ;  and  his  breath  was  on  her  cheek. 
Another  ripple  passed  over  her  face.  Elinor,  her 
thoughts  on  Dick,  was  marveling  at  the  change  in 
him.  He  had  schooled  his  face  into  hope,  because 
those  other  eyes,  with  their  awed  gaze,  demanded 
something  human  of  him.  His  mouth  smiled,  his 
eyes  had  pleasant  lights  in  them.  Yet  they  were  com 
manding,  too,  as  if  he  still  called  Natalie's  soul  and 
bade  it  stay.  Drummond  seemed  to  hold  his  breath, 
and  a  slow  red  crept  into  his  face.  He  was  a  scien 
tist,  but  he  did  not  forswear  un  comprehended  ways. 
In  his  mind  nothing  was  too  intangible  a  help  toward 
keeping  warmth  in  stricken  bodies  ;  he  reverenced  the 
weaving  of  a  cobweb,  if  it  would  hold.  Something 
crept  into  Natalie's  look  and  stirred  the  surface  of  it, 
as  a  pool  is  stirred. 

"  Natalie  !  "  said  Dick  again,  as  if  he  called  her  back 
to  pleasant  tasks.  "  Look  at  me,  dear  !  look  at  me  !  " 

A  movement  flickered  over  her  whole  face.  It  gained 
no  color,  yet  for  the  moment  it  lost  austerity  and  grew 


THE  MESSENGER  307 

human :  strangely  young,  too,  like  a  child's.  Drum- 
mond  had  his  finger  on  her  pulse,  and  Dick  still  held 
her  gaze.  His  face  grew  tense  and  white.  The  man 
in  him  was  dominating  the  woman  as  it  lived  in  her. 
All  the  fibres  in  him  were  commanding  her,  and  yet 
with  tenderness.  He  said  her  name  again,  and  she 
seemed  to  listen  wonderingly.  To  Elinor,  watching, 
Natalie  was  a  part  of  him,  a  creature  over  whom  he 
had  some  power  of  life  and  death.  He  murmured 
other  words  to  her,  so  simple  that  no  one  remembered 
afterwards  what  they  were  —  words  that  were  the 
recall  of  the  beloved  to  homely  deeds.  Then  the  gaze 
between  them  seemed  to  break,  with  the  quiver  of  her 
lids. 

"  Oh !  "  she  breathed  in  a  satisfied  way,  and  her 
eyelids  closed  again.  She  relaxed,  as  if  she  snuggled 
into  warmth  and  great  content ;  and  when  Dick  moved 
his  hand  to  show  her  he  was  there,  the  fingers  clung 
a  little.  She  knew. 


XXXI 

SENSE   AND    SPIRIT 

THEY  tried  to  draw  her  back  to  life  by  threads  of 
care  and  tenderness.  The  nurse  served  her  in  foolish 
ways  not  nominated  in  the  bond  ;  and  Natalie  smiled, 
ate  when  she  was  told,  and  lay  for  hours  with  eye 
lids  closed  and  her  hands  dropped  as  if  they  had 
abandoned  care.  Of  Elinor  she  seemed  to  have  a 
little  need,  and  Dick  she  regarded  solemnly,  as  if 
he  had  been  granted  to  her  until  some  trying  time 
should  pass.  Gilbert,  looking  at  Dick,  studied  his 
changed  face  and  the  new  aspect  of  him  shown  in 
silent  moods  and  curt  replies.  For  even  now  that 
the  current  of  hope  was  strong,  Dick  was  as  unlike 
the  man  they  knew  as  he  had  been  that  night  when  he 
came,  in  haste,  upon  her  summons.  Save  with  Nata 
lie,  he  was  very  serious.  The  lines  cut  into  his  face 
stayed  there.  Gilbert  wondered  if  Drummond  could 
have  told  him  evil  news. 

One  night  when  Home  was  settled  by  his  fire,  book 
in  hand  for  the  first  time  since  the  alarm  and  rout  of 
illness,  the  new  peace  of  the  house  fell  upon  him  and 
would  be  manifest.  The  place  had  fallen  into  its  ac 
customed  ways.  Old  Sally  stayed  in  the  kitchen  like 
a  soul  condemned  to  total  banishment,  and  rioted  in 
broths  for  the  sick  girl,  and  pretty  concoctions  for  the 
table  to  hearten  the  well.  The  nurse,  Sally  regarded 


SENSE  AND   SPIRIT  309 

with  a  deep  but  civil  scorn.  A  cap  and  apron  were, 
to  her  mind,  the  folderol  made  to  cover  boastfulness 
in  a  profession  to  which  you  were  called  or  not,  as  it 
happened.  But  since  life  interested  her  more  than 
criticism,  she  was  civil.  Cassie  was  everywhere,  swift- 
footed  and  silent,  and  Elinor  stayed  near  Natalie,  not 
to  talk,  for  Natalie  had  no  answers,  but  to  help  her 
live.  It  was  all  beautiful  to  Home,  in  a  way  he  did 
not  formulate.  It  only  seemed  to  him  that  Natalie 
was  going  to  get  well ;  and  as  we  do  when  people  are 
rendered  back  to  us,  he  felt  a  strong  desire  to  give 
her  better  tendance. 

There  was  a  rustle  on  the  stairs  and  in  the  hall. 

"  Is  it  you  ?  "  he  called. 

"  Yes,"  said  Elinor. 

He  laid  down  his  book  and  went  to  meet.  her. 
She  was  putting  on  her  cloak,  and  he  stayed  her  hand. 

"  You  don't  need  to  go,"  he  said.  "  Do  they  want 
you  over  there  ?  " 

"  No,  I  fancy  not.  But  I  'm  going.  Natalie  slept 
last  night." 

"  Come  in  and  talk  a  little." 

She  put  back  her  cloak  on  the  nail,  and  he  followed 
her  into  the  library.  There  he  drew  forward  a  great 
carved  chair  out  of  the  shadows  where  it  stayed  in 
dignity  because  he  liked  his  old  worn  workfellow  bet 
ter.  Elinor  sat  down,  and  looked  at  him  with  her 
sweet  expectancy.  She  wore  a  soft  red  dress  that 
warmed  her  cheeks  to  a  reflected  rose,  and  she  came 
from  mothering  Natalie  with  the  air  of  it  about  her. 

"You  are  different  somehow,"  said  Home  wonder- 
ingly.  "  I  know.  It 's  the  dress.  I  've  always  seen 
you  in  black  or  white." 


310  THE   MANNERINGS 

"  Yes.  I  Ve  been  wearing  black.  Not  mourning, 
because  my  father  did  n't  wish  it.  But  I  put  on  this 
to  please  Natalie." 

"  Queer,  is  n't  it,  how  everything  all  at  once  re 
volves  round  Natalie  ?" 

"  Yes.  She  almost  slipped  away  without  our  know- 
ing." 

"  And  Dick  does  n't  know  now." 

"  Know  what  ?  " 

"  What  we  do.  All  those  things  she  told  and  we 
listened  to.  He  is  the  one  person  who  ought  to  know 
them,  and  he  never  will." 

"  I  hope  he  never  will,"  said  Elinor.  She  was 
looking  dreamily  into  the  fire,  and  the  light  of  it 
played  on  her  red  dress,  on  her  delicate  hands  and  the 
bracelet  she  wore. 

"  How  queer  you  are !  Why  do  you  hope  so  ? 
She  has  lived  out  a  long  tragedy  for  him,  and  you 
don't  want  him  to  know  it !  " 

"  No,  I  don't  want  her  to  be  indebted  to  remorse, 
or  pity,  or  any  lesser  thing.  I  want  him  to  love  her 
because  he  loves  her  —  no  other  reason.  That 's 
what  Natalie  would  wish." 

Gilbert  put  that  saying  by  to  reflect  upon  when  he 
had  more  time ;  but  this  was  a  passing  moment,  and 
must  be  used  in  the  warm  flush  of  it. 

"  I  have  been  sitting  here  planning  how  I  might 
make  it  easier  for  them,"  he  said.  "  If  they  want  to 
marry,  they  could  live  on  here  with  me." 

Elinor  looked  at  him  in  a  frank  denial. 

"  Don't  do  it,  Mr.  Home,"  she  said,  "  don't  do  it. 
Don't  let  him  marry  her  because  it  is  made  easy.  I 
know  Natalie  now.  She  shan't  live  on  expedients. 


SENSE   AND   SPIRIT  311 

She  shall  have  him  because  he  adores  her  and  has 
fought  his  way  to  her,  —  not  because  somebody  thrust 
her  into  his  arms." 

Gilbert  smiled  at  her  in  a  friendly  way.  It  meant 
indulgence  of  a  mood  he  might  not  share.  Yet  he 
spoke  almost  tenderly,  — 

"  What  a  romantic  lady  !  " 

Her  face  warmed  with  something  deeper  than  the 
fire-shine. 

"  You  may  call  it  what  you  like,"  she  answered, 
"  but  that  child  up  there  is  a  sacred  thing  to  me. 
From  these  few  days,  we  know  what  the  years  have 
been.  She  loved  him  and  then,  as  she  thought,  she 
lost  him.  She  has  not  grown  bitter  or  complained. 
She  has  just  lain  down  and  died.  That 's  all.  She 
shan't  have  happiness  bought  for  her.  She  shall  wait 
for  something  better." 

"  I  don't  know  you  in  this  mood.  You  are  as  war 
like  as  Katharine  Mannering.  What  do  you  mean 
by  something  better  than  happiness  ?  " 

Elinor,  though  she  answered,  scarcely  seemed  to  in 
clude  him  in  her  thoughts. 

"  It  is  a  very  good  thing  to  marry  a  man,  to  have 
tables  and  chairs  and  things  you  can  put  your  hands 
on  ;  but  there 's  something  else.  It 's  not  to  be  de 
spised." 

"What?     Tell  me  what?" 

"  To  love  him  in  absence,  if  he  does  n't  want  you. 
Women  are  n't  so  unfortunate,  if  they  have  to  do  that. 
It 's  better  than  a  makeshift." 

He  got  up  and  walked  to  the  window.  Then  he 
came  back  again,  his  face  suffused  not  so  much  with 
color  as  with  emotion. 


312  THE   MANNERINGS 

"  You  make  me  see  "  —  he  began  —  "  Pshaw ! 
You  make  me  afraid  there  are  things  I  can't  see  at 
all.  This  has  been  a  damnable  time  to  live  through. 
It 's  not  only  because  it 's  Dick  and  Natalie  ;  but  they 
make  me  feel  so  infernally  young  !  " 

"Young?" 

"  Yes.  All  this  pother  has  dragged  up  something 
in  me  that  was  dead.  I  hope  it  is  n't  going  to  live 
again.  I  've  envied  Dick.  I  've  been  sitting  here  by 
myself  to-night  wondering  what  it  is  in  a  man  that 
makes  a  woman  care  for  him  like  that." 

"  Has  Cassie  thought  of  marrying?  " 

He  looked  up  bewildered. 

"  Cassie  ?  "  he  repeated.  "  No,  Cassie  would  n't 
marry.  There 's  a  big  blacksmith  down  across  the 
Ridge.  He  wants  her,  but  Cassia  runs  out  at  the 
front  door  when  he  comes  in  at  the  bac^  She  's  like 
a  big  boy.  She  would  n't  care  for  men." 

"  She  is  a  beautiful  woman." 

"  Cassie  's  a  good  child."  He  dismissed  her  from 
his  thought,  and  Elinor,  at  last,  bade  her  a  mute 
God-speed. 

"  I  used  to  wonder,"  said  Gilbert  musingly,  "  why 
the  books  gave  so  many  pages  to  sheer  love  story.  I 
see  now.  That  child  Natalie  again !  If  she  had 
died,  one  such  death  would  have  been  as  poignant  as 
the  slaughter  of  an  army."  He  kicked  at  a  log  and 
sent  up  showers  of  sparks.  "  Some  of  us  don't  half 
live,"  he  said  savagely.  "  We  don't  live  at  all.'' 

Elinor  rose,  looking  at  him  frankly. 

"  Good-night !  "  said  she. 

"  You  are  not  going  ?  " 

"  Yes.     I  must  find  Kate." 


SENSE   AND   SPIRIT  313 

"  This  is  the  end  of  it,  then.  I  shan't  know  you 
are  about  the  house.  I  shan't  hear  you  talking  "  — 
he  spoke  with  entire  simplicity. 

"  Oh  yes  !  I  shall  be  here  a  lot,  till  Natalie  goes 
home." 

As  they  stood  there  lingering  by  the  fire,  both  out 
side  themselves  in  an  incomprehensible  way,  a  strange 
thing  happened  to  Gilbert  ;  it  was  of  the  sort  that 
sometimes  made  him  feel  as  if  in  the  midst  of  sane 
living,  he  was  mad.  And  yet  what  other  people  call 
sanity  always  returned  upon  him,  and  he  had  learned 
to  accept  these  changes  as  some  journey  of  the  soul, 
concurrent  with  great  nature,  and  as  simple  as  the 
paths  we  take  unthinkingly.  The  walls  about  him 
grew  impalpable,  and  he  saw  the  bigness  of  things 
without,  and  felt  the  earth  as  he  did  in  his  nightly 
trysts  with  her,  sweeping  under  him,  not  on  a  rolling 
course,  but  a  track  that  took  her  somewhere.  The 
night  was  the  playground  of  his  soul.  All  certainties 
came  to  him  then,  all  obediences  that  were  greater 
than  hopes.  The  man  within  him,  he  who  had  lived 
more  lives  and  different  lives  than  the  outer  man, 
spoke  in  spite  of  him,  — 

"  You  belong  here.     You  must  not  go  away." 

Elinor  looked  at  him,  her  eyes  dark,  her  delicate 
nostrils  trembling.  She  could  meet  him  by  instinct, 
even  when  there  was  no  possibility  of  understanding. 
There  was  no  challenge  he  could  offer  and  she  refuse. 

"You  belong  to  me,"  he  said. 

"  I  know  I  do  "  -  but  the  words  failed  her.  He 
took  her  hand  and  lifted  it  to  his  lips  with  a  courtier's 
reverence.  He  might  have  been  his  dead  and  gone 
ancestor  who  lived  now  in  the  silhouette  on  the  wall. 


314  THE  MANNERINGS 

u  Stay  with  me  !  "  he  said.  There  was  an  alluring 
sweetness  in  his  tone.  All  sad  denials  merged  in  an 
enchanting  acquiescence.  But  she  caught  her  breath, 
and  withdrew  her  hand. 

"No,  Gilbert,"  she  said  with  great  gentleness. 
"  No,  dear,  no  !  " 

"Why  not?" 

"  You  only  want  me  sometimes.  You  don't  want 
me  every  day." 

He  shook  his  head  as  if  he  drove  away  bewildering 
dreams ;  but  the  dream  stayed  with  him,  and  out  of 
that  he  answered :  — 

"I  cared  about  you,  years  ago.  Did  you  care 
then?" 

"  Yes,  I  cared."  She  stepped  back  to  her  chair  and 
sat  down  in  it  because  she  found  herself  trembling, 
and  the  moment  made  demands  on  her  to  talk  and 
then  be  done.  She  thought  she  understood  him  ;  but 
it  was  plain  that  she,  too,  must  be  heard.  He  took 
the  other  chair,  and  leaning  forward,  looked  at  her 
with  blurred,  desiring  eyes.  Elinor  held  her  hands 
locked  together  and  kept  down  her  trembling. 

"  Did  you  care  about  me  all  those  years  ?  "  he 
asked. 

The  wish  came  upon  her  to  speak,  to  justify  her 
life  as  she  had  known  it,  in  its  silence  and  restraints. 
This  was  something  she  had  not  told  even  her  own 
heart  for  years,  until  a  girl's  reticence  had  grown  into 
a  woman's  passion,  and  she  had  accepted  within  her 
self  a  lonely  destiny. 

"I  cared  all  those  years,"  she  said  quietly.  "I 
have  cared  for  nothing  else,  except  as  I  forced  myself. 
I  have  built  my  life  on  that.  When  my  father  took 


SENSE  AND  SPIRIT  315 

me  to  Italy,  there  were  years  when  I  expected  you  to 
come.  I  don't  know  how,  because  things  kept  you 
here ;  but  I  expected  you.  Then  I  found  you  were 
not  coming.  I  gave  you  up.  But  there  was  some 
thing  inside  me  that  would  never  really  let  me  give 
you  up.  I  said  I  would  be  obedient  to  things.  I 
said  I  would  live  without  you ;  but  I  sent  you  mes 
sages.  I  lived  with  you  in  my  thoughts.  I  built 
a  house  in  my  soul,  and  there  you  and  I  lived  to 
gether.  I  tried  to  be  faithful  to  things  because  you 
were  faithful.  When  I  saw  nuns  and  holy  people,  I 
said :  '  I,  too,  am  consecrated,  set  apart  from  the  uses 
of  life  because  I  have  taken  a  vow.  I  have  vowed 
myself  to  him.'  '  She  was  using  that  simplicity  of 
diction  which  seems  remarkable  only  because  we  do 
not  hear  it  every  day. 

"  And  I  never  knew  it !  "  said  Gilbert.  "  I  knew 
some  of  it.  I  got  your  messages.  There  were  nights 
- 1  '11  tell  you  sometime.  But  now  you  have  come 
back.  You  '11  live  with  me  now,  dear.  We  '11  talk  of 
these  things  then.  There  will  be  so  much  time."  It 
was  an  awed  and  happy  voice.  The  dream  was  like 
certainty,  yet  it  seemed  incredible. 

"  No,"  said  Elinor  gently,  "  no,  dear,  I  shan't  do 
that." 

"  Not  after  this  ?  You  have  told  me  things.  You 
can't  repudiate  them." 

"  I  don't  want  to  repudiate  them.  I  want  to  re 
member  them,  and  I  want  you  to.  They  will  keep 
you  from  thinking  nobody  has  cared  for  you.  I  'm 
glad  you  know  it  now.  Glad  !  glad  ! " 

He  leaned  forward  and  stretched  out  his  hands  for 
hers.  But  she  denied  them. 


316  THE   MANNERINGS 

"  You  must  n't  give  me  a  thing  and  take  it  back," 
he  said,  in  a  low  tone. 

But  she  still  withheld  her  hands,  and  he  looked  at 
her  speculatively  with  the  challenge  of  the  man  for 
his  mate.  It  shook  her,  but  she  spoke  defiantly.  The 
moment  had  changed  her,  as  if  a  thousand  breezes  had 
blown  upon  her,  and  made  her  another  kind  of  woman. 
The  red  was  in  her  cheeks.  Her  mouth  lost  its  deli 
cate  curve  and  showed  the  fullness  of  pleasure.  In 
her  eyes  was  the  joy  of  life. 

"I  love  you  too  much,  too  much,  Gilbert  Home," 
she  said,  in  a  voice  not  like  her  own.  The  struggle 
of  two  natures  spoke  in  it ;  this  was  the  everlasting 
fight  between  the  spirit  and  the  sense. 

"  Too  much,  my  girl  ?  You  can't  love  me  too 
much." 

They  were  like  combatants.  The  more  he  stormed 
her  citadel,  the  more  her  mind  refused  him.  She 
spoke  passionately,— 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  would  take  anything  less  than 
what  I  give  you  ?  " 

"  You  will  have  all  there  is." 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  I  know  !  I  know  !  It 's  no  other 
woman  ;  but  you  have  accepted  life  without  me.  You 
were  comfortable  ;  you  told  me  so.  You  were  happy 
—  you  told  me  that.  You  wished  for  nothing.  But 
I  wished  for  you.  I  adored  you.  All  those  years 
I  wished  for  you." 

"God,  Elinor!  can't  you  take  me,  then?"  His 
face  was  white.  His  eyes  blazed.  In  his  first  youth 
she  had  never  seen  him  so  compelling.  Time  had  been 
kind  to  him.  It  had  softened  in  him  some  of  the 
greed  of  life,  and  this  emotion  was  chiefly  of  the  spirit. 


SENSE   AND  SPIRIT  317 

"  No,  I  can't  take  you.  We  can't  take  each  other. 
Those  things  —  that  one  thing  —  it  means  more  than 
that." 

"  You  want  me  to  promise  you  devotion.  I  promise 
it." 

"  I  want  you  to  promise  me  nothing.  You  don't 
understand.  You  can't.  If  you  had  loved  me  "  — 
she  stopped  in  an  irrepressible  emotion. 

"  What  is  this  but  loving  you  ?  "  he  cried,  in  some 
thing  as  harsh  as  anger.  "  I  want  you.  In  every 
way  I  want  you.  Another  man  can  have  his  wife. 
Why  not  I  ?  I  'm  not  worth  it.  I  know  that.  But 
if  you  care  —  you  say  you  care  "  —  His  breath  la 
bored  upon  the  word,  and  he  stopped. 

A  smile  came  over  her  face,  and,  with  the  softness 
of  two  tears,  made  it  ineffable. 

"  Gilbert  Home,"  she  said,  "  you  want  me  to-night. 
You  don't  want  me  every  day." 

"  Not  every  day  like  this.  But  life  is  not  all  like 
this.  There  are  days  and  days." 

"Yes,  there  are  days  when  you  would  hear  the 
call  of  your  old  solitary  habits,  and  I  should  seem  a 
stranger  in  your  house.  In  all  these  years  you  have 
learned  to  live  without  me,  and  I  have  not  learned  to 
live  without  you.  Not  in  the  same  way,  I  mean.  If 
we  were  together  —  I  might  care  too  much." 

"I  don't  care  enough,  then  ?  "  he  said  slowly.  "  Is 
that  it  ?  " 

"  You  don't  care  at  all,  in  the  way  I  call  caring." 

"  Why  do  I  want  you,  then  ?  " 

She  flushed  more  deeply,  as  if  she  were  ashamed. 

"  There  are  several  reasons,"  she  said.  "  You  are 
soft-hearted  over  Natalie.  That  made  you  see  love  — 


318  THE   MANNERINGS 

like  a  vision.  It  made  you  envious.  You  felt  unrest- 
ful,  young.  It  is  a  mood.  It  is  seeing  a  picture  and 
wanting  to  keep  it." 

"  I  shall  keep  it,"  said  Gilbert  briefly. 

"  No,  Gilbert,  no !   the  picture  's  going  home." 

She  rose,  but  he  did  not  follow  her  lead,  and  as 
there  was  slight  space  between  his  chair  and  the  table, 
she  waited. 

"How  does  a  man  persuade  a  woman?"  said  Gil 
bert  Home.  "  How  do  folks  do  their  courting  ?  "  He 
seemed  to  be  speaking  to  the  fire,  and  still  she  waited. 

"  Sit  down,  dear.     One  minute.     Please  sit  down." 

She  obeyed  him. 

"  You  said  there  were  years  over  there  in  Italy  when 
you  thought  I  would  come.  Suppose  I  had  come  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer,  but  a  spark  showed  in  her 
eyes ;  it  sprang  from  new  knowledge  of  what  that  old 
joy  would  have  been. 

"  Suppose  I  had,"  he  insisted,  "would  you  have  run 
away  with  me  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know."  That  was  her  first  evasion.  She 
did  know. 

"  Your  father  was  incurably  ill." 

«  Yes." 

"  My  mother  thought  she  was  going  crazy." 

"Yes." 

"Could  we  have  bent  those  two  to  what  we 
wanted  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  But  if  I  had  come,  if  I  had  asked  you  —  Elinor, 
answer  me ! " 

She  spoke  the  truth  now,  with  an  adorable  simpli 
city. 


SENSE   AND   SPIRIT  319 

"  I  should  have  expected  you  to  tell  me." 

He  drew  a  deeper  breath. 

"  Yet,"  he  said,  "  you  don't  expect  it  now.  I  tell 
you  and  you  don't  believe  me." 

"  Ah  !  we  are  grown  up.  Then  I  accepted  things. 
Now  I  hold  them  off  and  look  at  them." 

"  And  they  don't  pass  muster  ?  " 

«  Then  "  —  she  hesitated. 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  Then  I  should  have  believed  you  loved  me.  Now 
—  truly  I  must  go." 

"What  do  you  mean  to  do  next  year?"  he  asked 
half  absently.  The  blurred  look  had  gone  from  his 
eyes.  He  no  longer  moved  like  a  man  in  a  dream. 
Rather,  the  trees  in  the  forest  might  have  told  her, 
like  the  man  who  prowled  there  on  winter  days,  seek 
ing  out  little  tracks  in  the  snow. 

"I  am  going  to  live  in  town.  Katharine  will  be 
there,  and  Natalie." 

"  You  are  not  going  back  to  Italy  ?  "  He  breathed 
his  satisfaction,  and  she  added,  in  a  quick  withdrawal : 

"  I  think  not.     At  least  not  yet." 

"  No,  not  yet !  "  He  stood  aside  to  let  her  pass, 
but  at  the  door  she  turned.  The  red  of  battle  was 
still  in  her  cheeks.  She  looked  larger  with  the  bloom 
of  life  upon  her. 

"  We  won't  remember  this,"  she  said.  "  I  shall 
come  over  in  the  morning  to  see  Natalie.  I  shan't 
keep  away  from  you,  and  things  won't  be  different 
between  us  because  we  've  had  intemperate  talk. 
Good-night." 

She  went  swiftly  out,  and  he  did  not  follow  her. 
Instead  he  stood  there  on  the  hearth  and  tried  to 


320  THE  MANNERINGS 

beckon  back  his  dream.  But  it  would  not  come. 
The  delight  of  imagined  possession  was  afar,  and  a 
new  constraining  lay  upon  him.  There  were  many 
things  he  thought  about  himself,  things  she  had  be 
gun  to  understand  and  that  hurt  her  in  the  learning. 
If  he  bound  her  to  him  with  the  long  vow  of  flesh  and 
spirit,  there  would  be  hours  when  he  cried  for  escape 
to  his  old  solitary  life.  Yet  he  adored  her,  while  he 
was  afraid.  The  fear  was  the  world-old  instinct  of 
the  creature  hunted  by  ties  and  social  ceremonies. 
But  a  something  dutiful  in  him  and  keen  as  the  ele 
mental  impulse  that  bade  him  flee,  spoke  sweetly  in 
the  tones  that  women  use  to  call  their  best-beloved. 
It  charged  him  to  remember  how  he  had  been  given 
back  the  dream  of  his  youth,  ineffably  glorified  under 
the  crown  of  middle  life.  He  was  011  the  threshold 
of  a  mystery.  Other  men  might  know  how  to  deserve 
such  things  without  a  pang.  He  could  only  try  to 
take  them  humbly  and  in  awe. 


XXXII 

THE    DARK   PLACE 

THE  next  morning  Elinor  went  over,  shortly  after 
breakfast,  to  see  Natalie.  She  and  Gilbert  met  in  the 
hall,  and  hardly  looked  at  each  other.  There  was  de 
fense,  withdrawal,  in  their  very  atmosphere.  They 
were  like  two  familiar  friends  who,  at  the  moment, 
have  no  time  for  speech.  The  brightness  of  the 
morning  was  in  Elinor's  face  :  the  coolness,  too.  She 
looked  as  if  a  west  wind  had  passed  over  her  and 
swept  even  her  lesser  thoughts  into  new  harmony. 

Natalie  was  alone  in  the  sunny  room,  propped  on 
pillows,  the  frilling  of  her  night-gown  low  about  her 
fair  young  neck.  The  nurse,  with  a  crafty  eye  for 
color,  had  laid  a  blue  wrapper  down  beside  her ;  but 
her  hair  was  the  only  brightness  the  child  herself 
could  show.  It  was  braided  in  two  braids  that  held 
her  like  a  burnished  frame,  and  the  long,  loose  ends 
curled  richly.  Her  eyes  still  had  their  solemn  look 
of  illness.  They  were  fixed  on  far-away  things,  save 
when  some  one  briefly  recalled  them.  For  Natalie, 
merely  because  her  blood  had  started,  had  not  come 
back.  Her  body  had  its  rational  life;  but  the  soul 
was  somehow  lacking.  At  the  sight  of  Elinor,  her 
gaze  quickened.  Elinor  had  come  to  the  bedside  and 
laid  a  rose  down  near  one  little  hand. 

"  Katharine    sent   it,"  she    said.     "  It 's  from  the 


322  THE  MANNERINGS 

rosebush  in  your  room.  Katharine  is  watering  your 
plants.  She  wants  me  to  tell  you  that 's  all  she  can 
do  for  you  now  —  till  you  come  home." 

A  wondering  look  crept  into  the  girl's  eyes.  She 
had  been  cold  so  long,  and  now  the  world  about  her 
seemed  to  be  quite  warm.  She  felt  it,  but  it  did  not 
move  her ;  she  had  not  the  strength  to  care. 

"  She  is  very  good,"  she  said  dutifully.  "  Katha 
rine  is  very  kind." 

"  It  is  n't  that,  sweetheart.  It 's  because  she  misses 
you.  She  wants  you  there." 

Elinor  moved  about  the  room  then  and  pretended 
to  do  things,  though  no  one  could  better  its  fine 
order,  and  presently  Dick  came  in.  After  a  word 
or  two  with  her,  he  went  up  to  the  bed  and  kissed 
Natalie's  hands.  Elinor  retired  to  the  west  chamber, 
where  she  lingered  with  a  book ;  and  Dick  drew  his 
chair  to  the  bedside.  Natalie  was  looking  at  him  with 
a  wistful  curiosity.  He  detected  this  in  her  often 
and,  only  half  understanding  it,  yet  longed  to  sweep 
it  away  by  some  wholesome  wind. 

"  That  omnipotent  nurse  has  gone  to  town,"  said 
he. 

"  Don't  call  her  names.     She  's  kind." 

"  Yes,  that 's  all  very  well  for  you.  She  treats  us 
like  the  dirt  under  her  feet.  May  we  come  in  to 
see  you?  'No,  not  for  an  hour.'  May  you  be  read 
to?  'Not  yet.'  May  you  come  out  snow-shoeing? 
'No.'" 

Things  she  had  been  brooding  over  since  her  mind 
began  its  groping,  beset  her  now. 

"  Dick,"  she  said,  "  how  did  she  dance  ?  " 

"  Lorraine  ?     Beautifully.     She  got    some  notices 


THE   DARK  PLACE  323 

in  Toronto  and  Montreal."  He  answered  with  great 
frankness,  as  if  Lorraine  might  be  a  delightful  sub 
ject  of  talk  between  them.  "  Then  she  made  up 
her  mind  Canada  was  no  good  —  the  little  places  — 
and  she  cut  for  western  New  York.  I  left  her  in 
Rochester." 

"  Why  did  you  leave  her  ?  "  Natalie  had  never 
questioned  him  in  all  her  life  ;  but  now  she  felt  de 
tached  from  ordinary  ways.  Expediences  had  fallen 
from  her. 

He  hesitated  a  moment.  Over  and  over  he  had 
been  warned  by  daily  implication  and  the  doctor's 
fiat,  not  to  excite  her.  Yet  Dick  felt  through  the  illu 
mination  of  this  time  of  terror  that  he  knew  some 
things  about  Natalie  which  no  others  knew.  Still, 
this  might  not  be  the  moment  for  saying  them  to 
her. 

"  She  danced  beautifully,"  he  went  on.  "  And 
grannie  sat  in  front  and  looked  like  a  picture.  If 
you  're  ever  jealous  of  me,  Natalie,  it  will  be  grannie. 
I  love  her." 

His  fencing  did  no  good.  She  had  the  air  of  lis 
tening  to  him,  and  yet  of  hearing  only  such  words  as 
fitted  her  unspoken  thought. 

"  Did  Levinski  come  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Levinski  ?     No  ;  he  is  in  Poland  or  somewhere." 

"  Did  he  cable  for  her  ?  " 

"  Bless  you,  no !  " 

"  Then  why  did  you  come  home  ?  " 

"  How  you  do  pester !  You  're  not  Natalie.  You 
are  Paulina  Pry." 

A  little  red  had  stolen  into  her  cheeks.  She  looked 
willful,  and  seeing  that,  he  relied  upon  his  old  know- 


324  THE   MANNERINGS 

ledge  of  her,  even  against  medical  tradition.  He  held 
her  hand  and  stroked  it  in  a  sober  way,  and  his  tone 
was  quite  unmoved. 

"  You  must  n't  get  me  into  trouble,  Natalie.  If 
you  do,  they  won't  let  me  see  you.  If  I  tell  you 
things,  will  you  be  a  good  child  —  quiet  and  all  that  ? 
Not  let  them  find  me  out  ?  " 

She  nodded. 

"  We  were  in  Rochester,"  he  said,  still  quietly, 
though  the  frown  deepened  in  his  forehead.  "  We 
were  to  wait  three  days,  while  Lorraine  rested  and 
made  up  her  mind  about  giving  an  evening  there. 
One  night  I  woke  as  suddenly  as  if  some  one  had 
touched  me.  I  heard  you  calling  me."  He  told  it  as 
if  it  were  a  simple  commonplace,  but  Natalie's  eyes 
darkened  and  her  lips  parted  with  her  quickened 
breath. 

"  I  did  n't  know  I  called,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  you  called.  Now  don't  get  eager  over  a 
thing  like  that.  That  was  n't  anything  very  wonder 
ful.  How  often  you  've  called  me  and  I  've  answered, 
or  known  you  've  called  and  been  too  lazy  !  It  is  n't 
anything,  for  people  like  you  and  me.  It  would  be 
queer  if  you  couldn't  summon  me."  He  had  laid 
his  will  upon  her,  as  upon  himself.  He  meant  to 
tell  the  story,  and  yet  keep  her  calm.  She  hardly 
stirred  now,  held  by  the  witchery  of  it  and  by  his  do 
minion. 

"  That  was  at  eleven,"  said  Dick,  as  if  he  recalled  it 
all  quite  slowly.  "  I  bore  it  until  four.  Then  I  got 
up  and  dressed  and  put  my  things  together.  I  could  n't 
ask  to  see  Lorraine  ;  so  I  wrote  a  note  to  be  given  her 
in  the  morning.  I  told  her  I  would  come  back  if  I 


THE   DARK   PLACE  325 

found  you  well.  She  has  behaved  beautifully  about 
it.  I  got  a  letter  yesterday.  She  went  on  to  New 
York,  to  stay  there  and  decide  what  to  do  next." 

"  Then  Mr.  Home  did  n't  telegraph  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  at  random.     I  never  got  it." 

"  Why  did  n't  you  telegraph  instead  of  coming  ?  " 

He  looked  confused.     Then  he  laughed. 

"  Natalie,"  he  said,  "  I  'm  ashamed  of  my  hysterics. 
That  was  my  first  thought  —  to  wire  you  —  but  I 
could  n't  do  it.  I  had  to  come.  Nothing  else  would 
do.  I  was  so  sure  you  wanted  me,  I  was  afraid  of 
telegrams." 

"  What  were  you  afraid  of  ?  " 

"  I  was  afraid  "  —  he  stopped,  and  she  finished  for 
him,  in  a  quiet  certainty,  — 

"  You  thought  I  might  be  dead." 

He  did  not  answer,  but  his  face  assented  for  him. 

"  There  's  only  one  thing  more,"  he  said,  in  a  mo 
ment.  "  That  I  'in  going  to  tell  you,  because  it 's  all 
so  queer.  It  '11  only  take  a  minute.  Then  I  shall  go 
away,  and  you  must  have  grog  or  something.  When  1 
was  going  downstairs  to  pay  my  bill  and  take  my  train, 
I  stopped  outside  Lorraine's  door..  I  thought  if  she 
were  awake  I  ought  to  tell  her,  and  not  sneak  off  like 
that.  But  there  was  n't  a  sound.  Then  I  listened  at 
grannie's.  I  heard  her  cough.  It  was  a  wide-awake 
cough.  I  knocked  softly.  She  called  '  Come  in/  I 
opened  the  door  a  crack,  and  said, '  It 's  Dick.'  '  Come 
in,'  she  said,  as  if  she  'd  been  expecting  me.  There 
she  sat  in  bed,  her  old  face  all  swathed  round  in  lace, 
clouds  of  it.  She  looked  like  a  strange  kind  of  spirit. 
I  told  her  about  your  calling  me.  It  seemed  a  per 
fectly  natural  thing  to  tell  her.  '  I  knew  it,'  she  said. 


326  THE   MANNERINGS 

fc  I  've  been  dreaming  of  ghosts  all  night  long.  I  mean 
the  dead  and  gone,  as  if  they  were  alive.  And  I  've 
been  wading  in  snow.  That 's  a  sign.  That 's  trouble 
for  us.'  Then  I  said,  c  Good-by,  grannie.  I  Ve  got  to 
catch  my  train/  And  then  "  -  his  eyes  blurred,  but 
he  spoke  composedly,  — "  then  she  put  her  little 
hands  on  each  side  of  my  face,  and  pulled  me  down 
to  her  and  kissed  me  —  one  cheek  and  then  the  other. 
Just  as  you  have  sometimes,  Natalie.  And  she  said, 
'  Yes,  dear  child  !  that 's  the  thing  to  do.  Go  to  her 
as  fast  as  ever  you  can.  God  bless  you ! ' ' 

Natalie  looked  as  if  she  were  not  so  much  excited 
as  bathed  in  wonder.  He  sat  there  a  moment  watch 
ing  her,  and  then  he  put  his  lips  to  her  palm. 

"  That 's  all,"  he  said,  "  except  that  there  was  a 
wrecked  freight,  and  that  delayed  me.  I  'm  going 
now.  Don't  you  get  up  a  temperature  or  anything. 
They  must  n't  find  us  out.  They  won't  let  us  play 
together." 

Natalie's  forenoon  went  on  like  all  her  days  now 
in  a  sweet  security.  Elinor  was  there,  in  and  out, 
not  to  talk,  but  to  keep  life  astir  about  her,  so  that 
the  room  should  not  lose  cheerfulness.  What  Natalie 
thought,  in  those  hours  of  strange  communion,  no  one 
knew.  Only  she  spoke  very  little,  and  they  still  had 
the  uneasy  feeling  that  she  was  not  quite  recalled.  In 
a  long  silence  of  the  afternoon  when  the  nurse  had 
come  back  and  was  busy  in  the  kitchen  accepting 
posset  from  old  Sally  and  setting  it  forth  in  the  ex- 
quisiteness  of  fine  damask  and  a  flowered  bowl,  Gilbert 
Home  appeared  in  the  open  chamber  door,  and  stood 
there  smiling.  Natalie  smiled  back  ;  her  face  wakened. 
He  was  thinking  that  she  had  not  seen  him  since  her 


THE   DARK   PLACE  327 

unrecognizing  eyes  included  him  in  the  house  in  the 
woods  when  she  had  said  "  Saint  Christopher !  "  But 
now  she  looked  calmly  welcoming. 

"  Come  in,"  she  said.  He  came  and  took  the  chair 
beside  her  bed,  and  for  a  moment  held  her  hand. 
Fear  was  at  his  heart.  They  had  got  back  some  shad 
owy  semblance  of  her.  Would  it  ever  be  the  old 
enduring  Natalie,  she  who  seemed  to  have  in  her  frail 
body  the  strength  of  ten  ? 

"  Well,  Natalie  ?  "  he  said  gently.  He  looked  so 
big  and  dear  that  her  heart  melted  to  him.  His 
was  an  impersonal  kindness.  She  could  not  admit 
even  Dick  to  the  intimacies  of  her  sick  mind,  because 
he  might  be  hurt ;  but  here  was  a  man  who  seemed 
always  to  represent  the  well-wishing  of  the  world. 
He  was  near,  and  yet  too  far  from  her  to  feel  her 
pain. 

"  Well,  Natalie  ?  "  he  said  again. 

She  regarded  him  with  far-seeing  eyes. 

"  I  have  been,"  said  she,  "  in  a  dark  place." 

"  Yes,  child.    I  know  it.    But  that 's  all  over  now." 

She  was  silent  a  moment.     Then  she  said,  — 

"  I  may  go  there  again." 

Gilbert  considered  within  himself,  and  meanwhile 
he  held  her  gaze.  She  looked  imploring,  almost  ter 
rified. 

"  Natalie,"  he  said,  "  listen  to  me.  You  need  never 
go  there  again.  We  shall  try  to  keep  you ;  but  that 
won't  do  any  good  unless  you  keep  yourself." 

"  But  the  dark  place  is  always  there  !  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  always  there.  But  do  you  know  what 
life  is?  It  is  knowing  the  dark  place  is  there,  and 
keeping  away  from  it." 


328  THE   MANNERINGS 

"  It  is  horrible,"  she  said,  with  a  shudder,  "  horri« 
ble !  " 

"  No,  child,  nothing  is  horrible  that  was  so  created. 
Some  things  are  not  our  business.  The  dark  place  is 
one.  You  must  simply  keep  away  from  it."  But  he 
held  her  hand  while  he  spoke  and  looked  kindly  at 
her,  and  when  he  went  away  she  lay  and  pondered  on 
his  words,  and  after  that  she  was  a  little  different. 
She  was  calling  on  her  will  and  humbly  on  something 
higher  than  her  will,  to  keep  her  away  from  the  dark 
place. 

That  night  when  the  house  was  asleep,  Dick 
roamed  into  the  library,  and  there  he  found  his  uncle 
sitting  by  the  fire,  without  book  or  pen. 

"  What  do  you  think  you  're  doing,  old  man  ? " 
asked  Dick. 

Gilbert  relaxed  into  a  whimsical  smile  before  he 
answered,  — 

"  Keeping  vigil." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  how  long  I  shall  live  as  I  have  been 
living.  I  thought  I  'd  be  saying  good-by  to  myself." 

Dick  stared. 

"  You  never  seem  to  sleep  now,"  he  said. 

"No.  I  feel  like  Madam  Walsingham.  Life  is 
shortening  up.  I  've  got  to  stay  awake  and  get  my 
fill." 

"  Madam  Walsingham  !  there  's  an  old  woman  for 
you  !  Gilbert,  what  was  the  matter  with  Natalie  ?  " 

Gilbert  answered  glibly,  telling  the  truth  while  he 
could,  not  knowing  how  soon  he  might  begin  to  hedge. 

"  Drummond  says  she  had  a  nervous  shock." 

"  What  caused  it  ?  " 


THE   DARK   PLACE  329 

He  began  slowly,  as  if  he  were  giving  evidence. 

"  I  believe  she  had  been  unhappy  for  a  very  long 
time." 

«  Why  ?  " 

"  Ask  her,  Dick.  Ask  yourself.  It 's  not  my 
business." 

Dick  stood  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  staring 
into  the  fire.  The  frown  was  deep  in  his  brow. 
Gilbert,  watching  him,  suddenly  realized  that  he  looked 
like  a  good  deal  of  a  man,  and  resolved  that  if  he 
wanted  the  truth  he  should  have  it.  But  Dick  forsook 
that  trail.  Possibly  he  guessed  where  it  might  lead 
him. 

"  But  a  shock  is  n't  the  same  as  a  long  unhappiness," 
he  said.  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  What  does  Drum- 
mond  mean  ?  " 

Gilbert  Home  reached  out  for  a  clear  statement, 
and  accomplished  it. 

"  Natalie,"  he  said,  "  wanted  to  put  her  money  into 
Fiske  and  Bailey,  to  buy  them  out  for  you." 

"  I  knew  that.     I  refused  it." 

"  Well,  she  tried  to  do  it  in  spite  of  you.  She 
found  out  suddenly  that  Fiske  and  Bailey  had  already 
sold  out,  that  Mannering  had  been  playing  her  fast 
and  loose  about  it,  and  that  incidentally  he  had  em 
bezzled  her  money." 

"  Mannering  ?     The  devil !  " 

Gilbert  went  on  piecing  together  the  fragments  of 
that  night  as  he  had  them,  though  he  knew  nothing 
after  the  old  captain  had  been  taken  ill.  How  long 
Natalie  had  been  away  from  home,  why  she  had  taken 
to  the  house  in  the  woods,  he  did  not  know.  No  one 
would  ever  know.  Dick  asked  him  a  series  of  short, 


330  THE  MANNERINGS 

sharp  questions  about  Mannering's  stewardship,  end 
ing  with  the  defective  metaphor,  — 

"  Have  you  punched  the  old  windbag's  head  for 
him?" 

"  Not  yet.     I  am  waiting  for  the  captain  to  die." 

"  He  won't  die  for  years." 

"  Oh  yes,  he  will  !  He  's  got  to.  Things  must  be 
simplified." 

Dick  had  another  stretch  of  silence,  and  after  that 
he  spoke  half  to  himself,  and  musingly,  — 

"  So  she  has  not  been  happy  !  " 

Gilbert  said  nothing,  and  Dick  stared  at  the  fire 
for  a  time.  Then  he  broke  out  suddenly. 

"  The  only  thing  is  for  us  to  be  married  at  once." 

Gilbert  thought  of  Elinor,  and  triumphed  mildly, 
picturing  her  approval.  Dick  turned  upon  him. 

"  You  don't  believe  in  me,  old  Gil,"  he  said  impet 
uously.  "  You  think  because  I  've  let  things  go  to 
the  dogs,  I  can't  whistle  them  back  again." 

Gilbert  sat  balancing  a  paper-knife  upon  his  finger. 
He  seemed  to  be  weighing  the  merits  of  the  case  be 
tween  the  man  and  woman. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  do  think,"  he  said,  at  last. 
"  If  you  're  still  hankering  after  Lorraine,  you  've  got 
to  say  so  now  to  Natalie." 

"  Lorraine  ?     Bother  Lorraine  ! " 

"  That 's  not  pretty." 

"  No,  it 's  not.  Lorraine  's  a  wonder.  But  she  's 
no  more  —  hang  it,  Gil,  I  don't  want  her !  I  could  n't 
get  her,  if  I  did  ;  but  I  don't  want  her." 

"  You  want  to  moon  over  her  a  little.  You  want 
to  think  you  might  have  had  her." 

"  Not  now,  man,  not  now  !     I  've  spent  a  good  deal 


THE   DARK  PLACE  331 

of  time  with  her  this  winter.  I  've  plucked  out  the 
heart  of  Lorraine's  mystery.  She  did  n't  have  any." 

"  Who  helped  you  cut  your  eye-teeth,  young  one  ?  " 
asked  Gilbert,  looking  at  him  with  affectionate  eyes, 
where  a  smile  lingered.  Dick  broke  into  a  laugh. 

"  Yes,  it  was/'  he  said.  "  It  was  partly  Madam 
Walsingham.  But  it 's  more  than  that.  Frankly, 
Gil,  I  got  a  good  deal  of  a  scare  about  Natalie. 
Things  have  been  —  different."  His  eyes  took  on  the 
introspective  look  they  had  worn  since  he  came  back. 
In  a  moment  he  turned  on  Gilbert  with  his  old  boyish 
honesty. 

"  Don't  you  be  afraid,  old  man,"  he  said.  "  I 
won't  make  the  same  blunder  twice." 

He  sat  down  and  they  reflected  a  little,  each  on  his 
own  road.  When  Gilbert  spoke  at  last,  it  was  in  a 
way  that  fell  in  with  their  musings. 

"  I  fancy,  Dick,"  he  said  hesitatingly,  as  if  he 
schooled  himself  while  he  taught  the  other  man,  "  we 
don't  quite  know  how  to  make  them  happy." 

«  Whom  ?  " 

"  Women.  They  are  such  delicate  things.  They 
endure  so  much,  but  it 's  easy  for  them  to  be  broken. 
I  fancy  we  've  got  to  mull  over  it,  and  study  it  — 
how  to  make  them  happy." 

«  Have  we,  old  Gil  ?  " 

"  It 's  not  enough  to  be  loyal.  We  Ve  got  to  seem 
so.  We  must  save  their  pride.  I  fancy  they  've  a 
lot  of  pride." 

Dick  frowned  at  the  fire,  and  did  not  answer. 
Gilbert  spoke  again,  feeling  his  way  with  difficulty 
among  his  own  uncertain  thoughts. 

"  They  demand  something  of  us,  a  kind  of  strength, 


332  THE   MANNERINGS 

a  sort  of  courage.  We  haven't  got  it — •  actually,  I 
suppose.  We  've  got  to  seem  to  have  it." 

"Play  to  the  gallery?" 

"  No  !  no !  Do  the  things  that  demand  courage  as 
if  we  had  it.  Do  the  things,  Dick,  do  them,  while 
the  gunpowder's  running  out  at  the  heels  of  our 
boots." 


XXXIII 

LOVE    DENIED 

WHILE  Natalie  lay  there  and  looked  at  the  sunshine 
on  the  wall,  the  early  spring  came  with  great  sudden 
ness  and  power.  There  was  the  sound  of  trickling 
drops  and  rushing  water.  The  snow  melted  under  a 
flood  of  sun  from  fervid  skies.  Great  banks  of  it  still 
remained,  water -soaked  and  gray;  but  it  went  on 
melting,  and  the  streams  from  it  formed  on  Edgcombe 
Hill  and  swept  down  headlong  into  the  lower  lands. 

Dick  stood  at  the  open  door  and  let  the  spring  wind 
blow  upon  him.  The  air  was  moist,  and  birds  were  in 
the  garden  shrubs.  From  the  field  across  the  hollow, 
he  thought  he  heard  a  jay.  All  the  atoms  of  the  world 
were  in  motion.  The  earth  called  him,  as  it  had  over 
and  over  in  other  springs  ;  but  he  stood  there  and  faced 
her  and  denied.  His  years  of  wandering  were  over. 
All  the  strength  in  him  and  all  the  hot  blood  were  in 
use  now  to  fetter  his  feet  to  one  spot,  and  bind  him  on 
the  wheel  of  chosen  destiny.  The  world,  as  the  world, 
was  enchanting  to  him  ;  but  one  thing  in  it  was  his 
own.  That  was  Natalie  whom  he  had  almost  lost. 
Fear  was  still  regnant  in  him ;  it  always  would  be. 

He  closed  the  door,  and  ran  upstairs  to  her.  The 
nurse  was  at  church,  and  she  sat  alone  by  her  window 
in  a  low  chair.  She  wore  a  blue  dress,  the  Madonna's 
color,  and  her  hair,  still  in  its  long  braids,  made  her 


334  THE   MANNERINGS 

younger  than  her  years.  She  was  lying  idly  back,  her 
eyes  on  the  maples  over  the  hill,  not  yet  budded  into 
red.  Dick  had  been  gently  protective  of  her  through 
her  sickness,  the  love  in  him  in  abeyance.  Now  he 
shut  the  door  behind  him,  and  went  toward  her  quickly. 
She  turned  with  a  slow,  welcoming  smile  ;  but  he  knelt 
beside  her  and  drew  her  into  his  arms.  He  laid  his 
face  to  hers. 

"  Natalie,"  he  whispered,  "  love  me  !  love  me  !  " 

There  was  brief  silence  between  them,  and  then  she 
put  her  hand  up  to  his  cheek,  and  stroked  it  softly. 

"  Dear  old  Dick  !  "  she  said.  "  Dear  old  boy !  " 
The  words  hurt  like  a  denial.  He  drew  quickly  back, 
and  looked  at  her.  The  color  scarcely  tinged  her 
cheeks.  An  ineffable  tenderness  dwelt  in  her  eyes, 
but  that  was  all.  The  old  quick  answer,  the  passion 
ate  haste  to  reassure  him,  had  belonged,  it  seemed,  to 
another  sort  of  creature.  This  was  Natalie,  yet  not 
herself.  It  was  a  gentle  changeling.  The  fear  of 
losing  her  swept  into  the  kindred  fear  of  finding  her 
estranged. 

"  Don't  you  love  me,  dear  ?  "  he  asked  simply,  and 
again  she  put  her  hand  to  his  cheek. 

"  Oh  yes !  "  she  said.  "  Dear  old  Dick  !  of  course  I 
do." 

"  You  are  different,  Natalie,"  he  hesitated. 

She  looked  distressed. 

"  I  don't  know  what  it  is,"  she  said.  "  No,  I  am 
not  the  same." 

He  took  her  hands,  and  stroked  them  with  a  gentle 
touch.  The  sorrow  in  his  face  moved  her  profoundly. 

"  You  must  n't  mind,  Dick,"  she  said.  "  Go  away, 
dear,  and  have  some  pleasure.  Don't  come  out  every 
night." 


LOVE   DENIED  335 

"  I  've  got  to,  Natalie." 

"Why?" 

"  I  can't  trust  you  now.  You  get  sick  and  un 
happy.  I  must  be  here  and  see  to  you." 

"  I  shan't  be  sick  again,"  she  said  musingly,  "  nor 
unhappy.  No,  I  'm  sure  I  never  shall  be  unhappy  any 
more."  But  that  assurance  was  more  terrifying  than 
any  fear.  It  seemed  a  certainty  that  she  had  out 
lived  the  real  life  in  her.  He  made  another  trial, 
and  asked  her  bluntly,  — 

"  Will  you  marry  me  this  spring  ?  " 

At  that  she  drew  away  a  little,  with  a  swift  uneasi 
ness. 

"  No,  Dick,  no  !     We  can't  do  that." 

"  Not  this  spring  ?  " 

"  Not  ever,  Dick." 

"  Why  not  ?     Natalie,  why  not  ?  " 

She  seemed  to  be  thinking  hard,  but  the  only  reason 
she  had  came  haltingly. 

"  Dick,  there  's  not  enough  of  me." 

"  You  '11  be  quite  well  in  two  weeks  more." 

"  I  shan't  be  the  same.  I  can't  tell  you  —  yet  I  've 
got  to  tell  you.  It  might  as  well  be  now."  She  left 
her  hands  in  his  and  looked  away  from  him  out  over 
Edgcombe  Hill  where  the  snow  was  melting  fast.  Her 
eyes  had  a  solemn  truth  in  them,  and  no  fear,  even  of 
what  she  had  to  say.  But,  as  he  noted  with  an  appre 
hension  that  grew  as  she  went  on,  not  a  shade  of  her 
old  changeful  expression  came  to  light  her  face.  Her 
eyes  traveled  back  and  rested  onjiim  in  great  tender 
ness.  "  I  don't  know  whether  you  can  understand," 
she  said.  "  I  don't  myself  quite.  Only  I  know  it  is  so. 
Something  has  died  out  of  me.  I  am  not  the  same." 


336  THE   MANNERINGS 

He  laid  her  hands  gently  on  her  lap,  and  drew  back 
a  little. 

"  You  mean,"  he  said,  "  you  are  indifferent  to  me  ?  " 

She  spoke  with  a  quick  anxiety,  wistful  lest  he 
should  be  hurt. 

"  No  !  no !  not  indifferent.     Never  that." 

"  Is  it  dead  and  gone,  Natalie  ?  "  His  mouth  quiv 
ered  a  little,  but  his  voice  rang  well. 

She  looked  at  him  seriously,  and  then  smiled,  to 
soften  the  words  for  him. 

"  It 's  I,  Dick.  I  am  dead  and  gone.  Something 
has  died  down  in  me." 

He  got  up  and  walked  away  to  the  other  window 
and  stood  there,  hands  in  his  pockets,  looking  at  the 
teeming  earth.  It  was  still  calling  him,  and  he  could 
answer.  He  could  go  now,  and  leave  no  agony  behind. 
Then  he  went  back  and  stood  before  her. 

"  People  talk  about  broken  hearts,"  he  said  slowly. 
"  Do  you  suppose  I  broke  your  heart  ?  " 

She  answered  in  a  loving  haste,  — 

"  No,  dear,  no !  It  was  n't  you.  It  was  I.  I  asked 
too  much.  And  I  can't  find  my  heart  now.  That 's 
the  trouble.  I  guess  I  ate  it  up  too  fast."  She  smiled 
at  him,  but  there  were  no  tears  in  her  pathetic  eyes. 
He  remembered  love  had  used  to  bring  tears  there. 

"  Don't  you  worry,  Dick,"  she  said  affectionately. 
"  Don't  let  it  bother  you." 

"  It 's  got  to  bother  me,"  he  said  soberly.  "  If  I  Ve 
lost  you,  I  've  got  to  bother.  Do  you  suppose  I  can 
let  you  go  and  not  -5—  not  suffer  pain  ?  " 

A  quick  look  flashed  into  her  eyes,  and  made 
bewildering  changes.  Her  face  broke  up  in  keen 
emotion. 


LOVE   DENIED  337 

"  Don't  tell  me  you  care,  Dick,"  she  said  sharply. 
"  Don't  tell  me  you  would  care  !  " 

"  Care  for  what,  Natalie  ?  " 

"  If  we  say  it 's  over  —  if  we  part  good  friends." 

His  face  dropped  into  the  lines  she  had  not  noted 
there :  the  lines  of  grief.  For  the  first  time  since  she 
had  loved  him,  the  shadow  of  Lorraine  was  not  be 
tween  them. 

"  Natalie,"  he  said  slowly,  "  you  must  n't  let  your 
self  misunderstand.  Whatever  I  am,  I  am  yours; 
the  little  good  there  is  in  me  because  you  created  it, 
the  bad  —  well,  because  it  is.  That 's  how  it  stands. 
You  can't  send  me  away  without  smashing  things  to 
pieces.  Do  you  want  to  send  me  away  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  too  terrible,"  she  said  to  herself. 

"  What  would  be  terrible  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  see  ?  For  me  to  care  and  care,  till 
there  was  n't  anything  left  in  me  to  care  with,  and 
then  for  you  "  She  paused,  and  the  old  look  of 

apprehension  touched  her  face.  He  saw  it  there,  and 
instantly  something  sweet  in  him  responded  to  it.  He 
took  her  hands  again  and  bent  over  them. 

"  Never  mind,  sweetheart,"  he  said  gently.  "  If 
one  of  us  has  got  to  suffer,  let  it  be  I.  But  we 
won't  have  suffering.  We  '11  get  well,  and  not  think 
of  these  things  any  more." 

Her  face  smoothed  itself  out,  though  she  still 
looked  at  him  in  a  wistful  questioning. 

"  I  can't  have  you  troubled,  Dick,"  she  said.  "  I 
can  bear  anything  but  that.  Go  in  town,  dear.  Have 
some  fun." 

He  touched  her  hair,  and  smoothed  it  softly. 

"  No,  sweetheart,"  said  he,  "  I  shan't  go  in  town. 


338  THE  MANNERINGS 

except  by  day  to  earn  some  money.  I  hoped  you  'd 
let  me  save  it  to  buy  bread  and  cheese  for  us.  If  you 
won't,  you  can  have  roses  or  pearls  or  something. 
But  I  shan't  be  far  away  from  you." 

He  turned  from  her,  and  went  rather  blindly  to 
the  door.  In  the  hall  Cassie  met  him.  Something 
had  disturbed  her  steadfast  look. 

"  Mrs.  Mannering  wants  you,"  she  said.  "  She 's 
in  the  library." 


XXXIV 

BETRAYAL 

KATHARINE  was  pacing  up  and  down  with  the  unre 
strained  movement  of  a  woman  held  in  narrow  bonds 
against  her  will.  When  Dick  came  in,  she  turned 
upon  him,  and  he  felt  her  challenge. 

"  The  captain  is  worse,"  she  said.  Her  voice  rang 
clearly.  It  was  hard,  with  the  metallic  resonance  of 
beUs. 

"  I  '11  run  over,"  he  said  quickly. 

"  No  !  no  !  Brice  is  with  him.     Wait !  " 

Dick  stood  by  the  table  and  pushed  the  books 
about,  to  give  her  time.  Though  she  surprised  him,  he 
was  not  thinking  very  much  about  her,  nor,  indeed,  of 
anything.  He  was  conscious  only  of  the  bruised  spot 
within  him  left  there  by  Natalie.  Meantime  Katha 
rine  looked  at  him  unseeingly,  her  own  thoughts  knock 
ing  too  insistently  at  the  door  of  speech.  She  mois 
tened  her  dry  lips,  and  pressed  a  hand  upon  them. 

44  It  is  veiy  difficult,"  she  said,  at  length. 

"What  is  it  you  want,  Mrs.  Mannering?"  asked 
Dick  solicitously.  "  Tell  me.  I  '11  do  it  for  you." 

44 1  came  here  to  see  Gilbert,  but  you  will  do  as 
well.  Better.  You  '11  act  for  Natalie." 

His  every-day  sense  came  back.  He  straightened, 
and  looked  keenly  at  her. 

44  Yes,"  said  he.     44 1  '11  act  for  Natalie." 


aiO  THE  MANNERINGS 

Gilbert's  step  sounded  in  the  dining-room.  "  Call 
him,"  said  Katharine. 

But  he  was  there,  and  when  he  had  crossed  the 
threshold  Dick  shut  the  door  behind  him.  Both  men 
faced  Katharine,  regarding  her  with  an  anxious  ex 
pectation.  With  Gilbert's  coming,  her  own  pose  had 
changed  to  one  of  great  resolve  and  dignity. 

"  Doctor  Drummoiid  has  been  here,"  she  began. 
"  He  says  the  captain  may  die  at  any  time." 

"  Let  me  go  over,"  offered  Gilbert,  in  his  turn. 

"  No  !  no  !  There  is  nothing  to  be  done.  But  I 
must  talk  to  you." 

She  passed  her  hand  across  her  face,  and  seemed 
again  to  set  her  thoughts  in  order.  Standing  there 
immobile,  she  looked  like  a  symbol  of  great  strength, 
maimed  somehow  in  the  using.  Her  old  revolt,  her 
hot  desires,  were  laid  aside  for  an  enduring  calm. 
She  was  like  a  woman  on  her  defense  before  two  men 
who  represented  some  tribunal :  perhaps  the  voices  of 
the  world. 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  say  it,"  she  began.  "  I  don't 
know  how  to  live  now  without  shocking  the  accepted 
decencies.  But  when  things  are  mean  and  poor, 
there  seems  to  be  nothing  left  us  except  to  deal  with 
them  in  mean,  poor  ways." 

She  clasped  her  hands  before  her,  as  if  she  would 
wring  them  ;  but  they  held  each  other  still.  Dick 
glanced  involuntarily  at  Gilbert,  seeming  to  beg  from 
him  some  form  of  soothing.  But  Gilbert  shook  his 
head  and  waited.  Katharine  went  on  impatiently, 
scorning  her  own  rebellious  nerves.  "  You  must  both 
help  me.  It  is  not  for  me.  1  would  n't  ask  that. 
It 9a  for  Natalie.  Dick,  Natalie's  money  is  all  gone." 


BETRAYAL  341 

"  I  know,"  said  Dick.     His  brow  darkened. 

"  How  did  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  told  him,"  said  Gilbert. 

"  Very  well.  Now  this  is  what  will  happen.  The 
captain  is  going  to  die.  When  he  is  gone,  Brice  will 
escape  us.  He  will  get  away  with  all  the  money  he 
can  lay  his  hands  on.  He  must  not  be  allowed.  I 
tell  you  he  must  not  be  allowed." 

"  It  shall  not  be  allowed,"  said  Dick.  "  Don't 
bother,  Mrs.  Mannering.  Don't  torture  yourself  so." 

44  Then  don't  you  see  you  must  do  something  now, 
now  while  his  father  holds  him  here?  He  won't 
allow  the  captain  to  be  troubled  or  disturbed.  He 
is  afraid  of  that.  Hold  him  through  his  fear."  A 
quiver  moved  her  face. 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  to  feel  shame  at  betraying 
him,"  she  added,  in  an  inquiring  wistfulness.  "  Per 
haps  that 's  what  I  am  feeling.  It  seems  like  shame. 
But  it  must  be  right  to  save  Natalie's  money.  I  can't 
help  thinking  that 's  the  most  important  thing." 

44  Sit  down,"  said  Gilbert  gently.  "  We  under 
stand." 

44  No,  you  don't.  You  never  in  the  world  could  un 
derstand  how  impossible  it  is  to  move  among  smeared, 
sticky  things  like  these.  But  whatever  it  costs, 
Natalie  shall  be  paid."  She  drew  herself  up  and  sum 
moned  a  fictitious  strength  that  looked  like  pride. 
44  You  don't  know  it  all,"  she  said,  turning  to  Dick 
and  pointedly  including  him.  44  He  has  made  money 
on  that  book." 

44  4  Hearts  Inspired '  ?    Yes,  he  made  money." 

44  A  part  of  the  money  is  mine.  The  book  was 
mine." 


342  THE  MANNERINGS 

"  Yours,  Mrs.  Mannering  ?  " 

"  Mine.     I  wrote  it." 

"  You  wrote  it  ? "  Dick  could  only  echo.  She 
seemed  to  be  insisting  upon  admission  to  a  farcical 
atmosphere  whither  he  had  long  ago  consigned  Brice 
Mannering. 

"  We  don't  need  to  go  into  these  things,"  said  Gil 
bert  miserably.  He  had  seen  wood  creatures  in  traps 
and  let  them  out  or  brained  them  as  their  necessity 
required.  It  looked  as  if  this  one  were  determined 
to  stay,  letting  the  cold  steel  bite  and  cripple  her. 

"  Don't  forget  the  real  state  of  things  for  a  min 
ute,"  she  said,  still  to  Dick.  "  Brice  and  I  together 
have  received  money  from  that  wretched  book.  We 
got  the  money  by  using  Natalie's.  And  now  Natalie 
must  be  made  whole.  If  I  could  influence  my  hus 
band  myself,  I  should  not  ask  you  to  do  it.  But  if  I 
enter  into  the  question  at  all,  it  will  put  him  on  his 
guard  and  make  him  the  more  obstinate.  So  I  be 
tray  him  to  you.  He  has  betrayed  Natalie.  I  betray 
him.  And  also  myself.  But  that  does  n't  count." 
She  glanced  about  her  for  her  cloak.  Then  she  re 
membered  that  she  had  come  over  without  it,  and  not 
looking  at  them  again,  turned  toward  the  door.  They 
made  way  for  her  deferentially,  Dick  conscious  of 
longing  to  do  something  superlatively  chivalrous,  to 
soothe  her  wounded  pride.  At  the  door  she  paused. 
"  Don't  lose  time,"  she  said.  "  Don't  lose  a  minute." 

Presently  they  saw  her  walking  down  the  drive, 
erect,  bareheaded,  as  if  she  dared  the  blustering  wind 
to  buffet  her. 

"  Jove  !  "  said  Dick.  He  strode  to  the  fire  and  laid 
about  him  with  the  tongs,  masking  his  own  emotion. 


BETRAYAL  343 

"  Did  you  know  that  ? "  he  asked  at  length,  half 
angrily. 

"What?" 

"  Did  you  know  she  wrote  that  rotten  book  ?  " 

u  I  don't  know  it  now,"  said  Gilbert  roughly. 
"  We  neither  of  us  know  it." 

"  Of  course !  that 's  understood.  Well,  we  've  got 
to  tackle  Mannering.  Can  we  do  it  ?  " 

"We  can  scare  him  blue." 

"  He  's  a  slippery  beggar." 

"  He  's  a  brainless  one.  He  does  n't  know  what 
you  can  do  to  him  and  what  you  can't.  If  I  told 
him  I  could  sentence  him  to  solitary  confinement  in 
the  house  in  the  woods,  he  'd  believe  it.  He  does  n't 
think  —  or  remember  —  or  draw  conclusions." 

Dick  looked  at  him  in  wonder.  Home's  tongue 
was  used  to  temperate  speech,  but  lately  he  had  given 
it  larger  freedom.  He  seemed  like  a  man  bent  on 
taking  facts  as  they  are,  and  twisting  them  into  shape 
for  handling. 

All  that  day  Brice  stayed  by  his  father,  and  Kath 
arine  was  in  and  out  of  the  room,  watching  them  both 
with  a  varying  mind,  and  saying  to  herself,  from  no 
especial  interest  or  surprise,  "  I  am  a  traitor." 

At  twilight,  when  Elinor  was  with  the  captain, 
Brice  got  his  coat  and  went  out  for  a  sedate  trot  on 
the  veranda.  Katharine  was  below  stairs,  and  she 
saw  Gilbert  and  Dick  striding  across  the  orchard  as 
if  they  had  awaited  him.  Her  heart  quickened,  but 
she  felt  only  a  tired  regret  for  them  all  impartially, 
because  the  things  to  be  done  were  difficult.  The 
two  men  came  up  the  steps,  and  held  some  low-toned 
talk  with  Mannering.  Presently  his  voice  rose  in 


344  THE  MANNERINGS 

sharp  appeal  above  their  monotone.  It  held  a  sud 
den  terror.  "  Don't  disturb  my  father  !  " 

Then  they  went  down  the  steps  together,  and  along 
the  drive.  A  man  was  on  either  side  of  Brice.  They 
seemed  to  be  taking  him  away. 

She  ran  upstairs  and  found  Elinor  bending  over 
the  captain,  vainly  trying  to  interpret  the  question  in 
his  eyes. 

"  Is  it  Brice  ?  "  asked  Katharine,  stooping  over  him 
in  a  kindly  care.  "  Do  you  want  Brice  ?  He  has 
gone  to  walk  —  with  Gilbert  Home." 

The  seeking  eyes  seemed  satisfied,  and  the  old  man 
fell  into  one  of  his  sudden  sleeps.  Katharine  smoothed 
the  coverings,  and  presently  she  and  Elinor  moved  to 
the  window,  and  stood  looking  out  along  the  path 
where  the  three  men  had  gone.  Elinor  was  tremulous 
under  a  disturbing  prescience,  as  if  her  being  stood 
on  tiptoe  at  some  potent  summoning.  Life  called  her, 
and  she  heard  her  own  response.  Outside  there  in  the 
beautiful  day  was  one  who  wanted  her,  and  there  were 
the  paths  where  her  feet  ached  to  follow  him.  The 
two  women  seemed  to  have  bartered  natures,  in  swift 
interchange.  Now,  for  the  moment,  Katharine  was  the 
grave,  considering  spirit.  She  was  speaking  soberly. 

"  I  must  be  clumsy,  Nell.  I  turn  life  into  ironies. 
I  've  been  contemptuous  of  Brice,  and  now  I  've  got  to 
be  contemptuous  of  myself.  I  love  courage,  and  I  've 
used  trickery.  I  want  to  do  big  things,  and  I  've  had 
to  ask  other  people  to  do  them  for  me.  Now  I  have 
asked  Gilbert  Home." 

"  He  will  do  them,"  said  Elinor.  There  were  new 
vibrations  in  her  voice.  "  Gilbert  Home  will  do 
them." 


BETRAYAL  345 

Katharine  turned  and  looked  at  her. 

«  Nell !  "  she  said,  "  why,  Nell !  " 

Elinor  felt  the  rush  of  swift  desire  to  profess  her 
faith  in  him,  mingled  with  passion's  longing  to  do  him 
honor  by  owning  her  allegiance. 

"  I  can't  marry  him,"  she  said,  in  that  same  mov 
ing  voice.  "  But  I  want  to,  Kate.  I  want  to." 

"  I  have  been  very  dull,"  said  Katharine  slowly. 
"  How  strange  it  is !  " 

As  it  happens  with  creatures  when  the  earth  calls 
loudly,  Elinor  yielded  to  the  great  egotism  of  the  soul 
and  body  burning  under  their  own  quickened  being. 
She  forgot  Katharine's  barren  past,  or  that  she  had 
looked  on  springs  from  which  she  might  not  drink. 
Like  a  girl  unused  to  life,  she  laid  her  cheek  on  Kath 
arine's  shoulder,  whispering,  - 

"  It  has  always  been  so,  Kate,  always." 

A  little  shiver  ran  over  Katharine's  body,  but  she 
held  her  close. 

"  You  must  have  him,  Nell,"  said  she.  "  Why 
should  n't  you  ?  " 

"  No,  Kate.     But  that  can't  alter  it." 

The  captain  stirred,  and  Katharine  gently  freed 
herself. 

"  I  must  go,"  she  said.  But  she  took  Elinor  back 
into  her  arms,  and  looked  at  her  a  moment  strangely. 

"  Has  he  "  —  she  paused.     "  Has  he  kissed  you  ?  " 

«  No  —  oh,  no  !  " 

"  Then  I  '11  wait.  But  bless  you,  Nell !  God  bless 
you!" 

It  was  two  hours  before  Mannering  came  back,  and 
then  Katharine  was  alone  in  the  sick-room.  He  ap 
peared  there  in  his  usual  fashion,  noiseless  and  in 


346  THE   MANNERINGS 

haste.  Anxiety  was  on  his  face,  but  only  for  the 
captain :  for  it  cleared  straightway,  seeing  there  had 
been  no  change.  He  nodded  absently  to  Katharine, 
to  release  her,  studied  the  medicine  schedule  with  a 
sharpness  he  had  never  shown  over  his  ledger,  and 
then  sat  down,  clasping  the  captain's  hand.  Kath 
arine  regarded  them  for  a  moment  in  fascinated  won 
der  before  she  stole  out,  leaving  them  to  their  still 
communion.  Through  that  one  act  of  touch  they 
seemed  to  be  transfused  into  an  uncanny  oneness, 
beating  sluggishly  on  into  its  own  decay. 


XXXV 

A    VOW   RENEWED 

THE  captain  lay  for  days  in  a  deep  sleep  that 
seemed  to  Katharine  not  so  unlike  the  life  he  had 
been  living  for  the  last  ten  years  ;  and  then  he  died. 
It  was  she  who  closed  his  eyes,  as  one  not  serving  him 
or  even  Brice,  but  learning  the  alphabet  of  service ; 
and  she,  with  Elinor,  arranged  the  burial.  She  tried 
to  feel  some  decent  sorrow  for  an  old  bond  broken ; 
but  her  mind  escaped  to  busy  itself  over  the  hours 
the  Homes  had  spent  with  Brice,  in  the  library,  these 
last  days.  From  those  long  colloquies  he  had  fled  up 
stairs,  heated  and  fretful.  The  contest  had  at  least 
been  on ;  the  issue  baffled  her.  But  now  Brice  was 
absorbed  in  grief.  He  watched  at  night  with  his 
father's  body,  and  by  day  sat  over  the  library  fire,  as 
if  loss  had  made  him  cold. 

At  the  end  of  the  third  day  the  captain  was  buried, 
and  they,  man  and  wife,  their  occupation  gone,  came 
home  together  from  the  grave.  Elinor  had  been  over 
the  house,  darkened  to  a  prescribed  solemnity,  and 
thrown  it  open  to  the  light.  It  was  cool  weather,  and 
fires  were  crackling ;  but  everywhere  there  was  the 
look  and  sound  of  spring.  Some  one  had  heard  a 
robin,  and  Gilbert  Home  that  day  had  put  the  blue 
bird  mark  upon  his  calendar.  After  the  silent  din 
ner,  Elinor  went  to  her  own  room,  and  Katharine 


348  THE  MANNERINGS 

wandered  about  the  house  with  an  uneasy  step  that 
led  her  finally  into  the  back  yard  where,  in  the  cool 
earth,  white  violets  would  be  budding  soon.  The 
moist  wind  washed  her  cheek  from  the  house-feelin<r 

O 

of  close  companionship.  She  put  up  her  head  like  a 
wild  thing  and  sniffed  the  air.  The  world  was  big 
about  her,  greatening  under  the  soaking  of  past  rains. 
It  had  infinite  hope  and  abounding  promise.  Yet  the 
life  she  had  decreed  herself  was  the  life  of  the  cell, 
and  with  the  world  calling  her,  she  went  in  to  Brice. 
She  found  him  over  the  library  fire  in  his  sombre 
black,  and  with  a  face  subdued  to  grief.  He  got  up 
and  gave  her  a  chair.  His  father's  stood  untenanted, 
and  as  he  passed  it,  he  touched  the  arm  of  it  in  silent 
recognition. 

"I  mean  to  get  my  father  a  monument,"  he  said 
abruptly,  when  Katharine  had  seated  herself. 

"  I  would,  Brice." 

"  I  shall  have  the  inscription  in  Latin.  My  father 
was  a  distinguished  scholar.  He  will  be  a  great  loss 
to  the  world." 

"  He  will  be  a  great  loss  to  you,  Brice,"  she  ven 
tured.  It  was  impossible  to  say  more. 

He  nodded  solemnly. 

"  I  shall  carry  out,"  he  continued,  "  the  purpose  of 
his  life." 

She  hesitated,  and  then,  as  he  did  not  go  on,  she 
asked  him  haltingly,  — 

"  Brice,  what  was  —  his  purpose  ?  " 

But  he  did  not  resent  the  question.  She  was  only 
a  voice  eliciting  reply  because  it  touched  some  spring 
in  his  absorbed  imaginings. 

"  He  was    a   great  student.     If  he  had   gone  to 


A  VOW  RENEWED  349 

Greece,  he  would  have  made  explorations.  I  shall 
carry  out  his  lifework  for  him." 

"  What  can  you  do,  Brice  ?  " 

"  I  shall  get  up  an  exploration  fund.  It  will  bear 
my  father's  name.  He  will  be  remembered  with 
Schliemann  —  yes,  with  Schliemann." 

"  But  there  are  other  things.  The  business  — 
Brice,  I  hate  to  bother  you  to-night." 

"  You  've  been  good  to  father,  Katie,"  he  said,  from 
the  absorption  of  his  dream.  "  You  took  faithful 
care  of  him." 

She  got  up  hastily  and  went  out  on  the  veranda 
for  an  untroubled  breath.  Gilbert  Home  was  coming 
along  the  orchard  path.  She  ran  down  to  meet  him 
and  speak  unheard. 

"  He  is  making  plans,"  she  said.  Her  face  had 
the  look  of  a  despairing  prisoner.  "  He  wants  money. 
He  will  get  it  somehow,  anyhow.  You  can't  pre 
vent  it." 

He  regarded  her  with  his  grave  kindliness  that 
always  seemed  well-wishing  toward  the  many  and  not 
the  one  alone. 

"  I  should  have  told  you  three  days  ago,"  he  said. 
"  Things  are  pretty  well  untangled.  We  have  been 
working  like  beavers  over  them." 

"  Has  he  paid  Natalie  ?  "  she  asked  breathlessly. 
"  Did  that  wretched  book  coin  money  enough  for 
that?" 

"  Not  altogether.  But  he  has  made  over  an  interest 
in  the  business.  Natalie  is  a  partner,  and  Dick  will 
act  for  her." 

She  looked  at  him,  wondering.  In  less  than  a 
week's  time  he  had  forced  Brice  into  action,  and  she, 


350  THE   MANNERINGS 

in  twenty  years,  had  left  him  sluggish  as  she  found 
him. 

"  How  strange  it  is !  "  she  said. 

"  Mannering  has  behaved  very  well.  Better  than 
we  have,  in  fact.  It  was  n't  altogether  a  fair  game. 
He  agreed  to  some  things  while  his  mind  was  else 
where.  He  even  offered  to  sign  papers  without  read 
ing  them." 

She  broke  into  a  laugh.  It  seemed  to  mock  her 
self  as  well  as  Mannering. 

"  So  he  was  willing  to  sign  papers  without  reading 
them  !  "  she  said.  "  It 's  a  queer  world,  —  a  queer 
world,  Gilbert  Home  !  "  Then  she  added  abruptly, 
"  You  hold  a  mortgage  on  this  house  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  as  if  he  were  ashamed  of  it. 

"Are  you  coming  out  clear  yourself?" 

"  Ultimately." 

"  I  see.  You  think  you  are  going  to  get  something 
more  out  of  the  business.  But  you  won't.  He  '11 
muddle  it  up,  in  spite  of  you." 

"  No,"  said  Home  gravely.  "  No,  he  won't  muddle 
anything  any  more.  He  has  gone  out  of  the  busi 
ness  for  good.  I  have  taken  it  over,  and  placed  it  in 
Dick's  hands." 

"  What  will  he  live  on  ?  " 

"Dick?" 

"  No  !  no  !   Brice  Mannering." 

"  I  have  made  him  "  —  again  he  hesitated  —  "a 
yearly  allowance."  These  were  the  things  he  had 
not  meant  to  tell. 

"  Out  of  what  ?  " 

"  Out  of  the  business.  Dick  has  great  faith  in  it. 
Dick  's  keener  than  a  brier." 


A  VOW  KENEWED  351 

"  You  mean  out  of  your  own  pocket.  Never  mind, 
Gilbert  Home !  You  will  have  but  one  to  feed.  I 
shall  work.  I  can  support  myself.  Perhaps  I  can 
do  more." 

All  the  forces  in  her  strained  for  action.  If  she 
could  waste  herself  somehow  for  Brice,  perhaps  she 
might  stay  with  him,  as  one  not  quite  undone. 
Freedom  had  knocked  at  the  door  and  gone  away. 
She  had  but  one  prayer  now :  that  her  cell  might  not 
be  dark.  Home  put  out  his  hand,  and  she  gave  him 
hers.  The  tears  sprang  hotly  to  her  eyes.  "You 
must  despise  us,"  she  said,  in  a  low  tone.  "  You 
must  despise  us  both." 

He  looked  at  her  in  real  surprise,  and  for  one  of 
the  few  times  since  they  had  been  neighbors,  used 
her  name. 

"Despise  you,  Katharine?  I  don't  know  what 
you  mean." 

"  His  debts  —  what  he  has  done.  That  book  "  — . 
she  added  blindly.  "  But  you  don't  know." 

Home  regarded  her  seriously,  and  considered  how 
she  might  be  comforted. 

"  I  know  a  lot  of  things  I  don't  talk  about,"  said 
he.  "  I  know  you  've  got  a  hard  row  to  hoe.  I  've 
thought  lately  you  meant  to  stick  to  it.  I  'm  inclined 
to  be  glad  of  that." 

She  lifted  her  face  in  recognition  of  a  friendli 
ness  she  could  not  accept  in  any  but  small  measure. 
Her  eyes  were  partly  closed,  and  tears  lay  on  her 
cheeks. 

"  I  am  going  to  stay,"  she  said,  almost  in  a  whisper. 
"  I  made  up  my  mind  some  time  ago,  when  Natalie 
was  sick." 


352  THE  MANNERINGS 

"  That 's  good.  It 's  better.  Perhaps  it 's  always 
better  to  stand  by." 

"  You  did  it  yourself.     You  've  been  faithful." 

He  frowned  the  words  away,  as  if  they  hurt. 

"  Don't  tell  me  I  've  been  faithful,"  he  said.  "  I 
did  the  things  I  saw.  I  did  n't  see  everything." 

"  Never  mind.  You  stood  by.  Sometimes  I  think 
that  was  why  I  could  n't  go.  You  would  n't  let  me. 
When  one  person  is  faithful,  it  makes  the  rest  of  us 
ashamed.  I  shall  stand  by." 

She  wiped  the  tears  from  her  face  and  winked  her 
eyes  free.  But  she  did  not  look  at  Gilbert  Home. 
She  moved  away  with  a  drooping  obedience  that  was 
new  in  her.  It  did  not  seem  like  a  pliant  creature 
crushed,  but  only  bent  to  inflexible  uses. 

Forgetting  the  neighborly  call  he  meant  to  make, 
Gilbert  turned  homeward,  and  she  went  in  and  up 
the  stairs  to  Elinor.  She  found  her  by  the  window, 
watching  Gilbert,  in  what  seemed  a  musing  dream, 
along  the  orchard  path.  Elinor  wore  a  white  dress, 
all  floating  softness,  and  to  Katharine's  tired  eyes 
she  looked  already  like  a  bride.  Katharine  put  her 
arms  about  her,  and  stood  holding  her  lightly,  as 
if,  like  a  bride,  she  were  not  only  dear  but  somehow 
sacred. 

"  Pretty  Nell !  "  she  said  wistfully.  "  Pretty,  young, 
sweet  Nell !  "  There  was  a  moving  softness  in  the 
words,  and  Elinor  knew  what  thought  had  brought  it 
there.  She  could  not  answer  in  that  vein,  but  she 
did  say,  — 

"  We  must  not  be  separated.  Nothing  shall  come 
between  us." 

"What    should    separate    us?     Be   happy,    child) 


A  VOW  RENEWED  353 

Drink  it  down  to  the  dregs.  But  there  won't  be  any 
dregs.  Drink  it  deep.  They  say  happiness  is  n't  good 
for  us.  They  don't  know.  Let  them  starve  a  while, 
and  they  '11  sing  a  different  song.  Eat  and  drink, 
Nell,  and  live  forever.  Let  me  see  one  creature 
glad." 


XXXVI 

THE   WAYS    OF   LIFE 

KATHARINE  had  prepared  herself  for  seeing  life 
settle  into  its  old  channels,  though  without  the  cap 
tain.  Brice,  she  judged,  would  go  into  town  on  his 
accustomed  train,  and  though  he  had  made  over  his 
dictatorship,  sit  about  the  office  in  pompous  abdica 
tion.  But  the  next  forenoon  she  went  into  the  library 
with  her  dusting  cloth,  and  started  back,  a  catch  at 
her  throat.  There  he  was  in  his  father's  chair,  the 
volume  of  Homer  on  his  knee.  It  was  the  captain's 
attitude,  though  not  the  captain's  air  of  somnolent 
well-being.  Brice  looked  sad  and  lonesome,  like  a 
man  bent  on  some  purpose,  even  the  quest  of  age  in 
imitation  of  his  one  ideal.  Katharine  stood  gazing  at 
him,  and  the  future  unrolled  before  her,  a  vista  with 
no  brightness  at  the  end.  He  would  sit  here  and  grow 
old.  All  the  active  impulses  of  being  would  die  down 
in  him,  as  he  invited  his  decay.  The  slow  paralysis 
of  what  should  be  power,  the  unreasoning  acquiescence 
in  the  downfall  of  the  flesh,  struck  upon  her  with 
horror,  and  she  realized  what  the  last  battle  of  all 
must  be,  after  the  test  of  middle  age.  Even  if  it  were 
met  with  honor,  it  meant,  not  the  building  of  tissue, 
but  its  repairing ;  not  the  toughening  of  the  body,  but 
the  strengthening  of  the  spirit  to  a  point  where,  when 
the  flesh  calls  on  it  to  yield,  it  answers,  "  I  will  not." 


THE   WAYS   OF  LIFE  355 

But  Brice  was  refusing  his  battle.  He  was  open 
ing  his  gates  and  calling  in  the  enemy.  She  saw 
herself  beside  him  years  from  now,  galvanizing  his 
spirit,  imploring  it  to  fight  away  this  daily  death  until 
the  natural  death,  beloved  and  lovely,  came  to  make 
all  well.  She  thought  with  an  absorbing  wonder  that 
this  was  a  part  of  her  bond :  to  watch  the  man  she 
did  not  love  and  save  him  from  his  own  decay.  And 
strangely,  though  it  meant  the  suffocation  of  her 
natural  impulses,  she  had  ceased  to  combat  that. 
She  was  animated  by  one  great  emotion :  the  refusal 
to  let  life  get  the  better  of  her.  She  came  nearer 
him. 

"  Brice,"  she  said,  as  if  she  called  him  to  awaken, 
"  Brice,  are  n't  you  going  into  town  ?  " 

He  looked  up  indifferently,  still  holding  the  book, 
as  if  to  return  to  it  after  this  momentary  interruption. 

"  I  intend  to  keep  up  my  father's  studies,"  he  said. 
"  That  is  what  he  would  have  wished.  We  read  to 
gether  a  great  deal.  I  must  not  neglect  my  reading." 

She  hesitated  near  him. 

"  Can  I  do  anything,  Brice  ?  "  she  asked  vaguely. 
He  closed  the  book  with  a  reverent  care,  and  laid  it 
on  the  table.  Then  he  answered,  with  some  show  of 
interest : — 

"  You  might  look  over  my  clothes,  Katie.  The 
Cynthia  sails  next  week.  I  've  telephoned  for  pas 
sage." 

"  The  Cynthia  ?    Are  you  going  abroad  ?  " 

"  Yes.     I  am  going  to  Greece." 

"  I  will  look  over  the  clothes,"  said  Katharine. 

She  went  out  of  the  room  abruptly  and  stood  in  the 
hall,  her  face  pressed  against  Elinor's  cloak,  hanging 


356  THE  HANKERINGS 

there.  It  was  friendly,  and  impersonal.  Just  then 
she  could  not  touch  a  human  hand  because,  in  the 
prospect  of  Mannering's  bidding  her  take  passage 
with  him,  all  intimacies  were  intolerable  to  her.  She 
put  on  her  hat  and  walked,  fast  and  free,  into  the 
road  and  down  to  the  house  in  the  woods.  The  brown 
woodpath  was  dry,  and  the  pine  needles  felt  soft  under 
her  feet.  A  little  mist  of  green  was  on  the  young 
trees  in  the  clearing,  and  the  air  blew  soft  as  June. 
She  had  never  prized  her  home  on  Edgcombe  Hill. 
She  loved  no  place  at  all,  save  the  great  earth  and 
the  space  to  roam  in  it.  Her  own  wild  spirit  was  the 
one  force  in  life  to  her,  and  carrying  that,  she  took 
the  universe  with  her.  It  was  not  the  fear  of  leav 
ing  this  ground  that  moved  her  now,  but  a  dread  of 
going  away  with  Brice,  of  enduring  his  presence  in 
the  solitude  of  crowds,  of  ministering  to  him  while  he 
should  grow  old. 

The  house  in  the  woods  was  open,  door  and  win 
dows.  It  seemed,  as  it  always  did  in  summer  weather, 
like  a  part  of  the  woods  itself.  The  air  played  upon 
it  as  it  did  upon  the  tree  trunks,  and  drew  through 
it  as  it  might  through  upper  branches.  Katharine 
went  in  and  sat  down  on  the  couch,  her  elbows  on 
her  knees,  her  head  drooping.  There  she  stayed  for 
hours,  forgetting  her  body,  suffering  in  a  vigil  of  the 
spirit.  Her  soul  was  withdrawn  into  the  last  cave 
where  desire  meets  the  decree  and  strives  to  vanquish, 
only  to  retreat.  Her  vow  seemed  to  her  now  austere 
as  God.  It  loomed  before  her,  terrible,  and  yet  with 
the  august  kindliness  of  law  fulfilled.  She  fought  the 
situation  with  the  logic  of  the  heart.  Was  it  right 
for  her  to  follow  the  accidental  impulses  of  his  mind 


THE   WAYS  OF  LIFE  357 

merely  because  she  was  his  wife  ?  At  that  moment  it 
was  impossible  to  tell.  The  insanity  of  renunciation 
was  upon  her.  The  hours  went,  and  she  had  not 
decided.  She  was  not  at  the  luncheon  table,  but  later 
she  appeared,  dark-eyed  and  pale,  in  Elinor's  room. 

"  Have  you  had  anything  to  eat  ?  "  Elinor  said  at 
once,  putting  her  into  a  great  chair. 

"  Yes  ;  some  bread  and  milk.  I  could  n't  come." 
She  leaned  back  in  the  chair,  and  her  mouth  moved 
in  lines  of  misery. 

44  Is  Brice  in  the  library  ?  "  she  asked  at  length. 

"  Yes.     I  left  him  there." 

44 1  'm  going  down  presently  to  get  my  sentence. 
He  's  sailing,  Nell,  for  Europe.  I  'm  afraid  —  I  think 
he  wants  me  to  go  with  him." 

The  two  women  seemed  to  have  changed  places. 
Elinor,  bathed  in  her  own  premonitions  of  happiness, 
leaped  like  light  to  the  core  of  human  relations,  and 
judged  them,  as  they  were  sound  or  rotten. 

44  Not  with  Brice  !  "  she  said. 

44 1  don't  know.  I  have  not  decided.  I  want  to 
stand  by." 

44  Not  that  way,  Kate.  Work  for  him,  wish  him 
well  —  but  obey  him  ?  live  with  him  ?  Kate,  you  hate 
Mm." 

Katharine's  mouth  trembled.  44  No,"  she  said, 44  no. 
I  do  wish  him  well.  That  is  n't  hate." 

44  But  you  abhor  him.  You  must  not  go  away  with 
him." 

Katharine  rose  and  walked  draggingly  to  the  door. 

44  He  must  decide,"  she  said.  44  He  is  the  only  one. 
He  must  decide." 

Brice  was  on  the    veranda,  pacing  up  and  down 


358  THE  MANNERINGS 

with  a  slow  step,  his  head  bent  forward  as  he  medi 
tated.  This  was  the  luxury  of  woe,  yet  it  was  honest. 
It  was  compelling,  like  some  wholesale  indulgence, 
and  it  bade  fair  to  become  a  habit  of  old  age.  Kath 
arine  sat  in  the  library  and  waited  for  him.  At  last  he 
came,  and  she  watched  him  dumbly  while  he  moved  his 
father's  chair  nearer  the  fire  and  sat  down.  Then  he 
laid  his  hand  upon  the  volume  of  Homer ;  but  before 
he  could  lift  it,  she  had  cried  out  sharply  to  him,  — 

44  Brice,  listen  to  me  !  " 

He  looked  at  her  indifferently. 

44  Will  you  tell  me  "  —  her  stiff  lips  almost  refused 
their  office ;  but  the  question  resolved  itself  into  a 
cry,  "  Brice,  it  is  n't  right !  " 

44  What  is  n't  right  ?  "  he  inquired,  frowning  a  little. 

Then  she  asked  her  question. 

44  Do  you  expect  me  to  go  abroad  with  you  ?  " 

The  room  was  very  still,  and  her  mind  followed  the 
ticking  of  the  clock  in  a  rhythmic  measure. 

44  Do  you  want  to  go  ?  "  he  asked  at  length. 

44 1  want  to  do" — she  sought  a  homely  ending  to 
the  phrase,  and  added,  44  what  I  must."  But  hex- 
heart  kept  beating  out :  44  It  is  not  right !  It  is  not 
right !  " 

Brice,  in  his  turn,  considered.  He  was  not  used  to 
generalizing  even  about  the  dear  details  of  his  own 
life ;  but  he  had  begun  to  acquiesce  in  the  prospect 
of  any  lot  where  he  could  be  let  alone.  Throughout 
his  father's  illness  she  had  been  a  deft-handed,  silent 
servitor.  Not  once  had  she  scourged  him  on  to  action 
or  preferred  her  own  wild  claims.  This  morning  he 
had  felt  very  peaceful,  alone  with  his  book  and  his 
bodily  ease ;  but  now,  recalled,  it  began  to  look  as 


THE   WAYS   OF   LIFE  359 

if  that  immunity  could  hardly  last.  Katharine  was 
Katharine  ;  when  life  settled  again  into  its  old  chan 
nels,  would  she  not  play  the  whirlwind  ?  But  she  was 
speaking  with  an  agitated  candor.  Suddenly  it  seemed 
to  her  impossible  to  begin  the  new  account  unless  she 
did  it  honestly. 

u  There  are  things  I  must  tell  you,  Brice.  I  've  not 
been  fair  to  you.  I  have  talked  to  people.  I  have 
clone  things  underhanded,  in  a  way  I  despise  most.  I 
must  tell  you  " 

"  There  !  there  !  "  said  Mannering.  He  was  frown 
ing.  Here,  as  he  had  expected,  began  new  volumes  of 
old  talk.  "  Come,  come,  Katie,  it 's  a  simple  matter. 
I  'in  going  abroad.  That 's  all  there  is  to  it.  Lots  of 
men  go  abroad." 

"  Do  you  want  me  ?  "  she  asked  tremulously. 

A  revulsion  no  less  real  than  hers,  though  it  was 
not  so  keen,  came  over  Mannering.  His  was  the  un 
heralded  reaction  against  great  boredom. 

"  No,"  said  he.  "  No.  I  don't  want  anybody. 
Please  yourself,  of  course,  please  yourself ;  but  I  've 
got  things  to  attend  to  over  there.  I  shall  be  occu 
pied." 

She  got  up  from  her  chair,  and  stood  there  trem 
bling.  Her  face  flushed  all  over,  and  tears  were  in 
her  eyes. 

"  Why,  Katie,  what 's  the  matter  ?  "  he  queried 
kindly.  "  You  look  sixteen." 

She  laughed  a  little. 

"  You  are  very  good,  Brice,"  she  answered  humbly. 
"  Of  course  you  don't  want  me.  How  should  you  ? 
But  I  did  n't  know.  I  was  afraid  "  It  was  dark 

before  her  eyes,  and  the  room  swayed  a  little.  But  she 


360  THE   MANNERINGS 

governed  herself,  and  went  over  to  the  door.  "  I  'm 
going  to  look  over  your  clothes,"  she  added.  "  I  '11 
do  all  I  can." 

He  had  been  regarding  her  half  absently.  Now  he 
got  up  and  spoke  with  a  civility  lamed  by  awkward 
ness,  — 

"  I  might  as  well  tell  you,  Kate ;  I  mean  to  live 
there." 

"  Do  you,  Brice  ?  " 

"  I  shan't  come  back.  If  you  want  to  carry  out 
some  of  your  ideas,  you  can  say  I  deserted  you. 
Hang  it  all,  Kate  "  He  looked  an  emotion  she 

had  never  seen  in  him.  "  Do  what  you  like.  I 
shan't  come  back.  You  took  good  care  of  father." 

He  sought  his  chair  in  definite  conclusion  ;  but  hot 
blood  mounted  in  her,  and  she  stayed  to  tell  him,  if 
she  could,  what  he  had  done  for  her  and  what  she  in 
turn  would  do  for  him.  There  was  a  step  without, 
and  he  spoke  irritably. 

"  That  's  Home.  Shut  the  door.  I  can't  see  him 
now." 

She  went  out  and  closed  the  library  door  as  Gilbert 
Home  came  into  the  hall.  She  flashed  on  him  a 
radiance  to  which  he  was  a  stranger.  In  spite  of  her 
ungoverned  spirit,  certain  sides  of  her  were  a  spring 
shut  up,  a  fountain  sealed.  The  Gilbert  Home  she 
guessed  at  she  had  no  communion  with,  save  within 
her  mind ;  nor  did  he  half  know  her.  She  had  locked 
her  beauties  all  away  from  him. 

"  He  is  going  abroad,"  she  said  hurriedly.  "  Brice 
is  going.  Alone  !  He  does  n't  want  me." 

"  I  knew  he  was  going,"  said  Gilbert.  "  We  've 
been  fixing  up  his  credit." 


THE   WAYS   OF  LIFE  361 

"  I  shall  go  in  town  to-morrow,  to  look  for  work." 
She  spoke  as  saints  might  speak  of  paradise. 

He  smiled  at  her. 

"  I  've  been  thinking  about  that.  We  wondered 
if  you  'd  like  to  go  into  the  business.  A  sort  of  head 
clerk  and  secretary!  You  and  Dick  could  pull  to 
gether." 

"  I  can  do  the  typewriting,"  said  Katharine.  Her 
eyes  had  turned  to  black.  "  All  the  letters  !  " 

"  You  can  read  manuscripts.  They  've  been  pilinj 
in  since  '  Hearts  Inspired.'  r 

The  name  threw  her  back  upon  herself.  Her  plea 
sure  had  a  swift  rebound. 

"  Are  you  going  on  printing  that  ?  "  she  asked. 
"  Are  you  going  on  selling  it  ?  " 

"  It  is  for  you  to  say." 

"  I  say  no,  then.     No  !  no  !  " 

"  That  settles  it." 

She  flushed  all  over  her  face,  and  Gilbert,  discon 
certed,  said  to  himself,  "  This  happy  woman  is  going 
to  cry."  He  hurried  away  from  that  dangerous  pos 
sibility,  asking,  — 

«  Can  I  see  Elinor  ?  " 

The  love  of  life  enkindled  in  her,  if  not  for  herself 
then  for  another. 

"  Don't  see  her  here,"  she  said ;  and  added,  as  if 
she  dared  him  to  his  wooing,  "  This  house  is  gloomy. 
Take  her  to  walk.  I  '11  call  her."  She  ran  up  to  Eli 
nor's  room,  and  burst  in  after  her  knock  like  a  wind 
from  heaven. 

"  Get  your  hat,  Nell,"  she  cried.    "  He  wants  you  !  " 

Elinor  turned  from  the  glass,  where  she  had  been 
putting  up  her  hair. 


362  THE   MANNERINGS 

"  Why,  Kate  !  "  It  was  all  she  could  reply  to  such  a 
vision.  "  Why,  Kate  !  " 

"  I  know.  I  must  look  crazy  ;  I  feel  so.  My  blood  's 
afire.  What  do  you  think  it  is,  Nell  ?  It 's  freedom, 
freedom !  "  She  stretched  her  arms  above  her  head, 
as  if  she  offered  adoration  to  the  gods  for  not  destroy 
ing  her.  She  laughed,  a  little  runnel  of  deep  joy. 
"  Go  down  to  him,  Nell.  You  '11  be  sorry  for  me  be 
cause  I  am  alone.  You  need  n't  be.  You  Ve  got  a 
man  —  God  bless  him  !  God  bless  you  both  !  —  but 
I  Ve  got  freedom  and  a  chance  to  work  !  " 

She  wafted  her  out  of  the  room  on  the  wings  of  her 
own  passion,  and  Elinor  went  amazedly  as  if  it  were 
all  a  dream  that  might  be  broken. 

Gilbert  was  waiting  in  the  open  door. 

"  Come,"  said  he.     "  We  '11  go  into  the  woods." 

"  No !  "  she  said.     "  No  !  " 

"  Come,  I  want  you." 

Her  woman  's  instinct  answered  with  obedience  that 
outstripped  her  will.  They  walked  across  the  pasture 
to  the  woods,  she  with  her  head  bared  to  the  warm 
spring  weather. 

"  You  know  what  I  am  going  to  say,"  he  began, 
once  in  the  shadowed  path. 

"  Don't  say  it,  Gilbert !  " 

"  But  you  know  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer.  Out  in  this  larger  air,  the 
sanities  of  life  were  calmly  evident.  This  was  a  world 
beyond  the  subtleties  of  feminine  revolt.  She  had 
denied  him  because  his  call  to  her  had  lacked  some 
inner  flame  she  was  accustomed  to  call  love.  But 
what  was  love  ?  Here  was  the  man,  a  fact.  She  could 
not  get  away  from  him.  Body  and  spirit  she  obeyed 


THE   WAYS   OF   LIFE  363 

and  answered  him.  That  wordless  speech,  that  fusion 
of  desire  that  make  the  dual  life  divine  were  theirs, 
and  not  to  be  obedient  was  to  mock  God's  mandate 
from  the  bush. 

"  There  ought  not  to  be  anything  to  ask,"  said  Home, 
in  a  kind  of  anger  against  her  soft  unyieldingness. 
"  You  know  how  things  are  between  us.  They  can't 
be  played  with.  You  care,  as  I  care  about  you. 
There  's  only  one  end  for  it.  You  've  got  to  marry 
me,  and  put  up  with  me,  and  I  've  got  —  my  God ! 
I've  got  to  bear  the  sweet  bewilderment  of  it  and 
keep  sane  and  make  you  happy."  He  breathed  hard 
and  deep,  and  the  world  and  the  woman  together 
moved  in  his  blood.  He  looked  at  the  trees,  as  if 
they  would  help  him  in  their  steadfastness.  The  riot 
and  the  motion  of  the  spring  were  always  more  to 
him  than  the  mere  beauty  of  it.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
universe  pulsated  with  birth,  the  birth  of  beauty  only, 
and  as  if  all  creatures  had  to  share  in  that  sweet 
trouble.  So  through  the  greatening  of  the  year  he 
walked  always  in  a  maze,  and  fought  away  its  mastery 
because  he  longed  for  calm.  And  now  with  this  spring 
came  the  woman  also,  and  he  had  to  meet  the  new 
obedience  of  his  individual  lot,  and  take  strange  ways 
with  her.  She  hesitated  in  the  woodpath,  and  he 
stopped  beside  her.  She  was  quite  pale.  Joy  was 
merged  into  the  love  that  is  unmindful  whether  it  be 
glad  or  sorry.  She  looked  at  him,  and  grew  forgetful 
of  herself. 

"  I  trouble  you  too  much,"  she  said. 

"  You  trouble  me  infinitely.  But  it 's  only  because 
you  are  so  far  away.  If  you  were  in  my  house  —  if 
I  saw  you  —  Nell,  you  care  about  me." 


364  THE   MANNERINGS 

"Do  I,  Gilbert  Home?" 

"  You  care  about  me.  I  've  got  some  power  over 
you.  This  is  n't  all  the  fancy  you  carried  away  from 
that  old  love.  It 's  I,  you  poor  child,  I !  I  've  been 
watching  you.  I  've  seen  you  turn  from  a  picture 
into  a  woman.  You  've  got  all  the  passions  in  you, 
acrid,  sweet.  I  'm  afraid  of  them,  but  I  'm  not  going 
to  be  afraid.  We  '11  live,  Nell,  live !  " 

No  passions  were  in  her  then  save  an  abiding  stead 
fastness  that  paled  her  face  and  made  it  tremulous. 
But  she  could  only  say  to  him,  — 

"  I  '11  be  good,  Gilbert.     I  '11  be  very  good." 


XXXVII 

CASSIE 

BRICE  went  away  on  his  journey  quite  composedly, 
like  a  guest  taking  leave.  No  wife  ever  did  more 
fervent  service  than  Katharine,  in  her  remorseful 
haste  to  have  him  gone.  She  did  his  packing,  and  at 
luncheon  stood  beside  his  chair,  to  help  him  like  a 
handmaid. 

"  You  '11  remember  about  the  monument,"  he 
charged  her. 

"  I  '11  remember,  Brice.  I  '11  do  it  just  as  you 
would  wish." 

"  I  left  some  flowers  there  yesterday.  If  you  should 
think  of  flowers  occasionally  —  but  never  mind.  Only 
see  they  keep  the  grass  cut,  won't  you,  Kate  ?  " 

When  he  parted  from  her,  it  was  as  if  he  were 
merely  going  into  town.  He  drove  away,  the  volume 
of  Homer  in  his  bag ;  he  might  need  the  book  on  ship 
board,  so  he  said.  Dick  was  with  him,  a  compendium 
of  cheerful  talk.  He  would  see  Brice  off  at  six. 

Katharine  and  Elinor  went  into  the  house  together. 
They  hesitated  at  the  library  door,  but  that  room 
seemed  dedicated  to  Brice  and  his  father.  It  was 
impossible  to  enter  there  with  such  rejoicing  minds. 

"  Come  upstairs,"  said  Elinor. 

"  No,  come  outdoors.     I  want  to  walk." 

They  struck   out   over   the  fields  where  they  had 


366  THE  MANNERINGS 

walked  on  the  night  of  Elinor's  coming.  The  spring 
world  had  changed  in  these  last  days  of  sudden  heat. 
There  was  a  sound  of  birds  in  the  air,  and  the  woods 
were  tremulous  under  their  foam  of  green.  They 
climbed  a  knoll,  and  looked  down  into  the  fields  be 
neath.  The  valley  was  enchanting,  a  village  of  clean 
white  houses  in  a  row.  Little  whiffs  of  blue  were 
going  up  from  fires  not  yet  died  down  from  dinner 
time.  Katharine  looked  about  at  the  four  quarters 
of  the  world  as  if  she  owned  them.  Her  eyes  widened 
and  her  nostrils  trembled.  But  suddenly  her  gaze 
dropped  again  toward  the  valley  where  a  moving  line 
of  smoke  told  where  the  train  was  running  into  town. 
Her  gaze  softened. 

"  I  hope  he  '11  be  happy,  Nell,"  she  said.  "  I  hope 
he  '11  take  some  comfort  there." 

"  He  will,  I  think.  He  '11  find  a  pleasant  rut,  and 
settle  into  it." 

Again  Katharine's  eyes  took  on  the  look  of  larger 
life. 

"  I  cannot  imagine "  —  she  began,  and  stopped. 
Then  she  spoke  with  quick  abandon.  "  Let  me  tell 
the  truth  just  once  before  I  put  these  things  away  for 
good.  I  cannot  imagine  what  life  will  be  without 
him."  To  think  of  it  even  seemed  a  joy  almost  too 
keen  ;  it  hurt  instead  of  healing. 

"  Don't  think  of  it,"  said  Elinor.  "  Don't  dwell 
on  it.  Let  the  past  go." 

"  I  shan't  dwell  on  it.  I  shan't  even  speak  of  it 
after  to-day.  But  now,  Nell,  now !  this  is  my  first 
minute  of  freedom  since  I  was  a  girl.  If  he  were  in 
town,  he  was  coming  back  at  night.  If  he  were  in 
the  house  and  I  out  here,  I  was  going  back  to  him. 


CASSIE  367 

Noll,  there  is  no  gift  in  the  power  of  Almighty  God 
like  that  of  freedom."  She  seemed  to  grow  and 
tower,  and  Elinor  so  caught  her  mood  that  the  wide 
fields,  as  she  gazed  at  them,  looked  all  too  small  for 
that  consuming  spirit.  They  stood  in  silence  looking 
off  to  a  higher  slope  where  there  were  patches  of  new 
green,  maples  in  soft  array.  A  man's  figure  came 
out  from  the  shadow  of  one  grove  and  crossed  the 
clearing  to  another.  It  was  Gilbert  Home.  He  was 
climbing  the  farther  hills,  walking  fast  as  if  there  were 
something  in  him  to  wear  out.  As  Elinor  watched 
him,  her  face  grew  mobile,  and  veiled  itself  in  softer 
pink.  She  spoke  on  impulse. 

"  Look  !     He  has  freedom  —  now." 

Katharine's  gaze,  too,  melted  to  the  tenderness  of  a 
woman  who  sees  ineffable  ways  she  may  not  enter. 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  "  that 's  different  !  You  won't 
hamper  him,  Nell.  You  won't  clog  him.  You  '11  let 
him  be  a  wild  man  when  he  wants  to,  and  you  '11  sit 
at  home  to  wait." 

«  Yes,"  said  Elinor  softly,  «  I  shall." 

"  You  '11  tame  him,  too.  He  won't  want  to  roam. 
Nell,  don't  you  see  ?  "  There  was  a  quick  excitement 
in  her  voice.  She  turned  upon  the  other  woman  in 
a  flashing  confidence.  "  Love  is  a  wild  ness  of  itself, 
a  freedom.  It  has  its  own  paths.  People  don't  see 
that.  If  they  did  "  — 

"  Tell  me,"  said  Elinor,  in  a  low  tone,  "  tell  me  all 
you  think." 

Katharine  seemed  to  be  absorbed  into  the  larger 
life  of  things.  She  felt  the  world  as  it  is,  with 
strange  pulsings  in  it,  sidetracks  of  withdrawal,  and 
yet  moving  perpetually  within  the  orbits  of  the  law. 


368  THE  MANNERINGS 

She  spoke  like  a  prophetess  intrusted  with  a  message 
not  her  own. 

"  I  know  love,  because  I  know  sexual  hatred.  I 
can  see  what  marriage  ought  to  be,  because  I  lived  in 
chains.  It  is  a  great  bondage,  a  great  vow,  a  great 
abnegation.  If  they  try  to  live  together  every  in 
stant,  they  '11  pay  for  it.  It  's  frank  companionship 
and  sudden  worship.  It  is  terrible  —  yet  —  O  Nell ! 
Nell !  you  happy,  happy  child  !  " 

They  stood  together,  moved  too  much  for  speech, 
and  then  Elinor  said  briefly, — 

"He  shan't  be  sorry." 

Katharine  had  come  back  to  her  old  self. 

"  He  won't  be  sorry,"  she  said.  "  When  are  you 
going  to  marry  him  ?  " 

"  In  a  few  weeks." 

"  I  'in  glad  of  that.  To-morrow  I  'm  going  in  town 
to  work." 

"  You  '11  live  here,  Kate  ?  Gilbert  was  afraid  you 
would  n't." 

"I  shall  at  first,  till  Natalie  gets  well.  She  '11 
marry  Dick  and  they  '11  take  the  house.  Then  I  shall 
go  in  town  for  good." 

Elinor  held  her  peace,  but  she  judged  that  Natalie 
would  not  marry  Dick. 

Gilbert  Home  came  home  after  his  tramp,  muddy 
from  watercourses  in  the  valley  and  wind-blown  from 
the  heights.  He  had  walked  all  the  afternoon,  the 
thought  of  Elinor  within  him  like  a  keen  anticipa 
tion.  Night  and  day,  the  dual  life  brooded  over  him, 
and  warmed  him  with  its  wings.  He  could  not  fancy 
the  woman  spirit  beside  him  always.  He  beckoned 
it  in  his  dreams  and  then  exorcised  it  like  an  unwel- 


CASSIE  369 

come  guest.  In  that  he  was  less  simple  than  she. 
According  to  the  way  of  women,  who  go  to  their 
sacrament  more  calmly  than  men,  she  was  thinking 
only  of  the  sweet  ways  of  daily  living,  and  wondering 
more  whether  she  could  learn  New  England  cook 
ing  than  whether  he  would  satisfy  her  soul.  But  he 
was  taking  it  all  like  a  tremendous  contract  he  must 
fulfill,  and  asking  the  birds,  in  their  raptures,  whether 
they  minded  the  building  of  a  nest.  It  seemed  to 
him  unfair  of  natural  life  to  let  him  come  to  his  own 
so  late,  when  he  had  none  of  the  audacities  of  youth 
to  bid  him  risk  the  woman  in  an  untried  bond.  Yet 
when  he  had  beaten  out  his  argument  to  the  sky  and 
the  grass  and  trees,  he  stopped  and  laughed  aloud. 
He  was  happy.  Earth  joy  was  in  him,  and  the  woman 
herself  presaged  his  heaven. 

That  night  after  his  supper,  when  Cassie  tended 
him  like  a  shadow,  he  went  into  the  library  to  look 
at  his  letters  before  going  over  to  Elinor.  He  had  laid 
down  the  last  one  when  Cassie  was  beside  him.  He 
glanced  up  at  her  and  smiled  warmly.  He  liked  her 
as  a  part  of  his  olden  life,  but  he  included  every  one 
now  in  the  circle  of  a  new  well-wishing. 

O 

"  What  is  it,  Cassie  ?  "  he  asked.  She  had  on  a 
dark  dress,  unlike  the  kind  belonging  to  her  daily 
service,  and  it  made  her  look  older,  yet  more  delicate 
also.  Something  had  softened  her  to  a  sweet  nobil 
ity. 

"  I  came  to  tell  you  we  've  decided  to  go  away," 
she  said  quietly. 

"We?  who?" 

"  Aunt  Sally  and  I." 

"  Going  ?     Where,  in  the  name  of  heaven  ?  " 


370  THE   MANNERINGS 

"  We  've  had  the  house  fixed  up,  down  at  the  Ridge. 
We  may  stay  there  a  spell." 

Gilbert  wheeled  about  in  his  chair  and  looked  at  her. 

"  What 's  the  matter,  Cassie  ?  "  he  asked.  "  What 's 
happened  here  ?  " 

"  Aunt  Sally  ain't  so  young  as  she  was,"  said  Cas 
sie,  as  if  she  had  arranged  her  argument.  "  She  ain't 
fit  for  much  hard  work.  I  could  do  it ;  but  it  seems 
better  all  round  for  me  to  go  down  there  and  take 
her  with  me." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  Gilbert,  frowning.  "  Old  Sal 
ly  's  as  tough  as  a  knot.  She  never  '11  die.  If  the 
work  is  too  hard,  get  in  somebody  to  help  you.  Get 
Mary  Ann  Balch." 

"  She  's  coming,"  said  Cassie.  "  She  's  in  the 
kitchen  now." 

"  W^ell,  let  her  stay  there,  and  you  and  Sally  camp 
out  in  the  dining-room  —  or  in  the  parlor.  Come, 
come,  Cassie  !  Don't  be  a  goose." 

"  Good-by,  Mr.  Home,"  said  Cassie  softly.  "  You  've 
been  real  good  to  us." 

"  No,  I  have  n't  either.  You  've  worked  your  fin 
gers  to  the  bone  for  me,  and  I  've  let  you  do  it,  that 's 
all.  And  because  you're  women,  you  like  me  the 
better  for  it.  Come,  Cassie,  don't  be  a  simpleton. 
This  is  your  home.  It 's  going  to  be  a  good  deal 
pleasanter  than  ever  it  was  before.  Now  mind  what 
I  say.  Set  Mary  Ann  Balch  to  scrubbing,  and  you 
and  Sally  take  a  whip  and  an  ox-goad  and  stand  over 
her.  Don't  get  these  foolish  ideas  into  Sally's  head 
either.  You  two  belong  here." 

"  If  there  's  sickness  we  '11  come  back,"  said  Cas 
sie.  "  If  either  of  you  need  us  !  " 


CASSIE  371 

"  Either  of  us  ?     Mary  Ann  Balch  or  I  ?  " 

"  No,  not  Mary  Ann  Balch.  Good-by,  Mr. 
Home." 

She  went  away  into  the  kitchen,  and  Gilbert  swore 
at  the  fire.  Yet  halfway  across  the  orchard,  he  won 
dered  whether  it  were  not  as  well.  Elinor  should  make 
her  own  household.  The  woman  had  entered  into  his 
garden,  and  thenceforth  it  was  not  the  same. 

She  met  him  in  the  hall  and  like  a  wife  put  up  her 
face  to  his.  She  had  not  done  it  before,  and  his  heart 
stopped  under  the  sweetness  of  her  calm.  Prophecy 
was  in  it  of  serene  days  given  over  to  homely  living. 
At  last  he  need  not  meditate  upon  the  world.  It  was 
his,  and  he  could  taste  it,  sweet  or  bitter,  for  him 
self. 

So  he  forgot  Cassie ;  but  half  an  hour  later,  when 
Katharine  came  in,  he  remembered  enough  to  say,  — 

"  Cassie  sprung  a  mine  on  me  just  now.  She  tells 
me  she  and  old  Sally  are  going." 

Elinor  was  sitting  by  the  window  that  looked  on 
the  orchard  path.  The  words  fitted  the  little  drama 
she  was  watching  through  the  dusk.  The  great  farm 
wagon  stood  at  Home's  door,  and  old  John  and  Cassie 
were  bringing  out  a  trunk.  Elinor  got  up  and  slipped 
out  of  the  room.  She  ran  across  the  orchard,  a  trem 
ulous  emotion  clutching  at  her  throat.  Old  Sally  had 
mounted  the  wagon  and  sat  there  in  stiff  supremacy, 
clad  in  a  wonderful  paisley  shawl  and  an  inherited 
bonnet  with  a  mourning  veil.  Old  Sally  looked  like 
one  who  scorns  to  be  moved,  knowing  the  world  is 
greater  than  any  temporary  convulsion  in  it. 

"  You  be  careful  o'  that  hair  trunk,"  she  said  to 
John.  "  You  can't  git  them  nowadays," 


372  THE   MANNERINGS 

Cassie  had  just  appeared  in  the  doorway,  and  Eli- 
nor  called  her. 

"  Cassie  !     Come  here  !     I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

Cassie  came  down  the  steps  as  if  she  moved  unwil 
lingly,  and  Elinor  took  her  hand  and  drew  her  along 
into  the  shadow  of  the  orchard. 

"  Cassie,"  she  said,  "  you  must  n't." 

"  Yes,  I  must,"  said  Cassie  gently.  She  was  very 
pale.  Elinor  looked  at  her,  the  nobility  of  her  pose, 
the  unassuming  sweetness  of  her,  and  felt  that  pain 
at  the  heart  which  is  the  daily  hurt  of  those  who  love 
and  cannot  benefit.  They  stood  a  moment  in  silence, 
the  trees  darkening  about  them,  and  the  piercing 
melancholy  of  the  frogs,  the  echo  of  all  the  springs 
that  ever  were,  thrilling  though  the  dusk. 

"  Cassie,"  said  Elinor  again,  "  I  can't  let  you  go.'7 

"  Don't  you  mind,"  said  Cassie,  "  there  ain't  any 
thing  to  mind  about." 

"  This  is  your  home.  You  grew  up  here.  You 
made  it  a  home.  It 's  yours,  Cassie." 

At  once  Cassie  seemed  like  an  older  woman,  dow 
ered  with  a  maternal  gentleness. 

"  It 's  real  nice  down  there  at  the  Ridge,"  she  said 
soothingly,  as  we  itemize  good  fortune  for  a  discon 
tented  child.  "  I  'm  going  to  have  a  garden.  Maybe 
you  '11  come  down  sometime.  I  should  admire  to  have 
you." 

The  tears  were  in  Elinor's  eyes  ;  but  Cassie  smiled, 
in  a  sweet  assurance.  It  was  easy  to  see  what  strength 
was  in  her :  the  strength  out  of  good  New  England 
stock,  fostered  and  fed  by  crystal  air  and  cleanly  liv 
ing.  Cassie  was  the  taller,  but  Elinor  put  her  arms 
about  her,  and  kissed  her  on  the  lips. 


CASSIE  373 

"  I  '11  come,  Cassie,"  she  whispered,  "  and  sometime 
you  '11  come  here." 

"Maybe  I  will.  Good-by."  She  turned  back  to 
the  house,  and  Elinor  stood  watching.  Cassie  felt 
the  trunks,  with  a  practiced  hand,  to  see  if  they  were 
firmly  set.  Then  she  mounted  to  her  place  in  the 
wagon,  and  old  John  climbed  in  and  took  his  seat  be 
tween  the  two.  He  gathered  up  the  reins,  but  Cassie 
laid  a  hand  on  his.  She  turned  about  where  Elinor 
stood  like  a  phantom  in  the  dusk. 

"  Don't  you  watch  me  out  of  sight,"  called  Cassie, 
with  a  full  note  of  reassurance  in  her  tone.  "  It 's  a 
bad  sign.  Good-by !  " 

But  while  Elinor's  answer  died  upon  the  air,  the 
wagon  rolled  away. 


XXXVIII 

THE    ORCHARD 

A  VIBRANT  sweetness  moved  the  air.  The  earth 
was  given  over  to  summer  heat  as  it  had  been  to  the 
winter's  cold.  There  was  no  pale  delaying  in  the 
woods.  All  the  buds  and  blooms  were  before  their 
season.  Hepaticas  had  scarcely  time  to  dare  the 
winds  before  arbutus  had  come,  and  violets  and  all 
that  delicate  following.  It  hardly  seemed  a  spring. 
It  was  like  a  summer  set  to  tenderer  uses,  with  pro 
mise  and  fulfillment  mingled.  Natalie  felt  herself 
strong  again,  though  her  delaying  mind  had  scant 
pleasure  in  the  body's  heartening.  It  seemed  to  her 
at  last  as  if  the  time  had  come  to  leave  the  habits  of 
her  illness  and  take  up  life  again.  When  she  found 
out  that  Gilbert  and  Elinor  were  to  be  married,  she 
suddenly  understood  that  they  were  delaying,  from 
day  to  day,  on  her  account.  They  were  having  pa 
tience  with  her  sick  fancy  for  staying  on  in  Gilbert's 
house  because  she  still  had  reminiscent  terror  of  the 
walls  she  knew  too  well.  So  one  day  she  moved,  and 
Katharine,  coming  home  at  night,  found  her  waiting 
on  the  veranda,  with  the  news  that  she  had  come  for 
good.  That  evening  they  two  sat  there  in  the  dusk, 
while  Gilbert  and  Elinor  paced  up  and  down  the 
road,  and  the  whippoorwill  called  liquidly  from  the 
orchard.  Natalie  and  Katharine  found  a  silent  com- 


THE   ORCHARD  375 

fort  in  each  other  now.  They  talked  very  little,  but 
Katharine  had  a  wistful  way  of  serving  her,  and  Nata 
lie  accepted  everything  in  humble  wonderment.  Kath 
arine  seemed  to  be  atoning  for  something  ;  no  one 
but  herself  ever  knew  that  it  was  her  own  numbness 
toward  life  save  as  it  touched  her  own  desires.  She 
was  reaching  out  delicate  antennae  toward  the  world. 

"  You  will  want  to  close  this  house  ?  "  asked  Nata 
lie  abruptly. 

"  I  don't  know  what  will  be  done,"  said  Katharine. 
She  was  not  free  to  speak.  She  knew  Dick  was  meant 
to  live  here  with  Natalie,  and  as  yet  none  of  them 
could  guess  whether  Natalie  would  come  out  of  her 
strange  little  shell.  She  seemed  to  like  them  all  im 
partially,  in  a  bewildering  way,  and  to  be  as  grateful 
as  a  child,  as  pleased  with  little  things.  But  she  was 
different.  The  great  offices  of  life  lingered  afar  from 
her. 

"  You  must  n't  wait  for  me,"  said  Natalie.  "  I 
could  go  any  time." 

"  Where,  child  ?     Where  could  you  go  ?  " 

"  Somewhere  by  the  sea.  That  would  be  good  for  me. 
If  I  am  going  to  live  —  I  mean,  I  must  get  strong. 
Then  in  the  winter  I  shall  go  in  town  and  take  rooms 
as  we  planned.  I  might  even  learn  to  do  something. 
You  are  working.  You  love  it,  Katharine." 

"  We  don't  want  you  to  do  things,"  said  Katharine. 
"  We  want  you  to  be  lily-white." 

Though  she  had  Dick  in  her  mind,  she  dared  not 
speak  of  him.  Every  day  now  she  saw  him  at  his 
work,  and  with  new  acquaintanceship  respected  him 
the  more.  He  never  rested,  and  his  qualities  shone ; 
he  had  wedded  his  brilliancy  of  address  to  a  new  dog- 


376  THE  MANNER1NGS 

gedness  of  habit.  And  he  was  gaining  swiftly  on  his 
road  ;  yet  even  so  she  found  him  a  pathetic  figure. 
Under  all  his  courage  he  carried  sadness,  and  the  lines 
were  deepening  in  his  face.  Katharine,  who  had  ceased 
striving  for  herself,  rebelled  somewhat  for  him.  Life 
was  scourging  him.  She  wanted  him  to  linger,  now 
and  then,  in  a  green  grove  with  Natalie. 

One  day  shortly  after  this,  Gilbert  and  Elinor 
walked  down  to  the  old  minister  in  the  valley  and 
were  married.  They  came  back  and  had  supper  by 
themselves,  and  Mary  Ann  Balch  served  them  with 
dishes  so  modeled  on  Sally's  that  Gilbert  felt  a  double 
sense  of  home.  He  had  Elinor  and  he  had  the  round 
of  habit  still  complete.  Since  old  Sally  went,  he  had 
never  thought  of  kitchen  government  at  all,  so  far  as 
these  warm  comforts  were  concerned ;  he  did  miss  his 
two  handmaids,  but  only  when  he  wanted  to  open  the 
kitchen  door  and  throw  a  crack  at  Sally,  or  to  tell 
Cassie  how  the  woods  were  looking.  Twice  he  had 
driven  down  to  the  Eidge  to  see  them,  each  time  to  find 
Sally  coolly  regnant  over  pots  and  pans  ;  but  Cassie  had 
been  away  in  the  woods.  She  had  just  gone,  old  Sally 
said  ;  it  was  of  no  use  waiting  for  her.  Sally  added,  with 
a  joyous  eye-gleam  that  partook  of  prophecy,  that  the 
blacksmith  came  round  pretty  often.  He  had  a  new 
"  hoss,"  and  a  buggy  all  varnished  up  complete. 

But  that  night  while  Elinor  broke  bread  with  her 
husband,  Cassie  seemed  to  be  there  in  the  room,  an 
invisible  servitor.  She  brought  no  pain :  only  a  pa 
thetic  sense  of  the  travail  decreed  by  life  to  bring  some 
other  life  to  bear.  Nothing  was  lost.  Every  sweet 
thing  seemed  to  have  a  little  eternity  of  its  own,  where 
it  beat  on  in  pulsing  beauty  toward  an  unguessed  goal. 


THE   ORCHARD  377 

Elinor  was  not  afraid  of  pain  now,  either  for  herself 
or  the  beloved  world.  With  this  new  chrism  upon 
her,  mystic  abnegation  became  a  proven  sanity,  and 
wonderings  were  merged  in  deeds. 

When  they  got  up  from  the  table,  she  stopped  to 
look  about  the  room  before  their  leaving  of  it. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Gilbert  beside  her.  He  was 
very  still  that  day;  but  his  eyes  were  unresting,  and 
they  followed  her.  At  the  door  she  paused,  bidding 
good-by  to  Cassie  :  for  tender  prescience  told  her  that 
after  this  one  hour  even  such  memories  would  be  as 
light  as  shadows  on  the  grass. 

"  Nothing,"  she  answered,  but  as  he  bent  to  kiss  her 
she  put  him  away. 

"  Not  here,  dear !  "  she  said.     "  Not  now !  " 

But  afterwards  she  did  kiss  him  with  an  unwith- 
holding  mind. 

It  was  a  week  after  this  that  Natalie  got  up  one 
morning,  her  will  complete  to  give  no  further  trouble. 
She  wrote  a  letter  to  a  house  she  knew  down  in  a  little 
fishing-place,  to  ask  whether  she  could  have  board  ;  and 
then  with  the  letter  beside  her  on  the  table,  like  a  re 
minding  messenger,  she  began  clearing  out  her  bureaus 
and  assorting  papers  for  a  final  leave.  She  meant  to 
simplify.  Henceforth  she  would  live  in  a  room,  not 
in  a  house.  She  would  travel  light,  like  a  soldier  on 
his  march.  While  she  worked,  a  telegram  was  brought 
her.  It  was  from  grannie,  who  hated  to  write  letters 
and  scorned  an  economical  terseness  in  her  infrequent 
messages. 

"  We  sail  to-day.  Levinski  has  sent  for  her.  His 
brother  is  dead.  They  marry  on  her  arrival." 

Natalie  crushed  the  paper  into  her  pocket,  and  with 


378  THE   HANKERINGS 

an  undefined  emotion  at  her  heart,  went  out  of  doors. 
She  ran  into  the  orchard,  and  lay  down  on  the  grass. 
There  she  stayed,  her  hands  over  her  eyes  because  the 
green  world  burned  too  bright.  Her  mind  pulsed  in 
measures  too  broken  for  defining,  and  the  bees  buzzed 
in  the  orchard.  The  air  was  very  still,  save  for  the 
bees,  and  the  orioles  in  the  elms.  She  heard  Elinor 
singing.  Nobody  had  remembered  Elinor  could  sing. 
It  was  a  pure  soprano,  mounting  like  the  horns  of 
heaven.  Once  she  heard  Gilbert  laugh.  The  world 
seemed  swinging  fast,  yet  with  the  security  of  what 
God  planned,  toward  happiness.  It  made  her  dizzy. 
She  trembled  with  the  rush  and  motion  of  it. 

The  day  was  like  the  moment,  a  swift,  bright  pa 
geant.  She  spent  it  out  of  doors,  and  had  her  dinner 
there.  Later  in  the  afternoon  she  went  in  to  take 
off  her  grass-tumbled  gown  and  put  on  a  clean  white 
dimity  that  made  her  look  like  a  careful  child.  But 
the  house  was  still  too  small  for  her,  and  she  hurried 
back  into  the  orchard,  to  sit  there  with  a  book.  Kath 
arine  would  be  coming  home.  Not  Dick :  he  stayed 
in  town  now,  since  Gilbert's  marriage.  She  lay  there 
in  her  chair  and  studied  the  orchard,  as  she  had  a 
thousand  times.  She  loved  it  like  a  sentient  thing, 
and  thrift  counseled  her  to  get  its  loveliness  by  heart 
to  carry  with  her,  like  a  picture,  into  her  old-maid 
home.  All  the  tendrils  of  her  life  had  twined  about 
these  trees  and  drawn  some  strength  from  them. 
Quick  pulsings  were  in  her  blood ;  but  not  from  fuller 
life,  she  told  herself.  It  was  the  orchard.  This  was 
not  New  England,  this  little  tract  of  trees  inclosed  by 
tumbling  walls.  It  was  enchantment  mingled  out  of 
age  and  beauty. 


THE   ORCHARD  379 

The  grass  to-day  was  green  enough  to  make  the 
vision  swim ;  it  breathed  out  color  like  a  mist.  The 
tree  trunks  were  still  black,  after  the  recent  rain. 
They  were  curved  into  a  gnarly  wonder :  here  were 
lines  to  fit  a  weird  imagining  and  then  again  an  ample 
sweep  of  growth.  The  roof  of  her  enchanted  castle, 
the  orchard  leafage,  was  all  tender  green,  packed  close 
with  petals,  pink,  and  then  again  translucent  snow 
touched  with  a  fine-veined  rapture.  The  smell  of 
it  was  in  Natalie's  nostrils,  and  petals  fell  on  her 
from  honeyed  blooms.  The  bees  and  she  were  equal 
pilferers.  Studying  the  orchard,  she  let  her  fancy 
loose.  Here  were  swift  trains  of  maidens,  satyrs, 
fauns,  bacchantes,  all  moving  in  procession  to  bring  in 
the  year.  Yet  after  all,  this  play  with  beauty  was  but 
a  feint  to  keep  her  mind  out  of  the  road  it  was  con 
strained  to  travel,  and  in  spite  of  her  it  would  return. 
It  spoke  and  made  her  listen.  She  had  here  in  her 
hand,  it  told  her,  the  fruit  of  a  long  sowing.  Dick 
was  at  work,  and  Lorraine  at  last  had  left  him.  He 
was  not  Natalie's,  either  by  her  wish  or  will.  He  was 
his  own.  If  work  were  an  inheritance,  he  had  it. 
There  fell  upon  her  an  awed  humility,  the  fruit  of 
answered  prayer.  The  answer  she  woidd  feed  on  all 
her  life,  a  heavenly  certainty.  And  for  this  day,  she 
had  the  orchard. 

Katharine  came  up  from  the  station,  and  stood  a 
moment  on  the  veranda  where  Natalie  could  see  her. 
She  was  talking  with  Elinor,  and  the  difference  be 
tween  them  struck  Natalie,  even  at  that  distance,  with 
a  tender  wonder  over  each.  Elinor,  dressed  in  some 
light  spring  prettiness,  was  bending  in  a  gracious  atti 
tude,  as  if  she  had  large  gifts  to  offer  to  the  world. 


380  THE   MANNERINGS 

Katharine  stood  straight  and  tall  in  her  stout  skirt 
and  linen  waist.  She  had  taken  off  her  hat,  and 
Natalie,  though  she  could  not  see  her  face,  knew  how 
it  looked  in  these  home-comings  after  work :  flushed 
under  its  disheveled  hair,  dusty  even,  and  a  little  worn, 
but  alive  with  the  spirit  that  goes  to  dull  deeds  gladly 
met,  —  the  happy  worker's  face.  The  two  women 
clasped  hands,  and  Elinor  walked  away  down  the 
drive.  Katharine  went  in,  and  once  she  called,  — 

"  Natalie !  " 

But  Natalie  did  not  answer.  She  could  not  break 
her  orchard  dream.  There  would  be  no  other  day 
like  this.  But  when  the  sun  sank  lower,  she  got  up 
unwillingly,  and  said  good-by.  It  was  dusk  in  the 
orchard,  under  the  lowness  of  the  trees,  yet  the  light 
struck  sweetly  there.  And  as  she  closed  her  unread 
book,  she  saw  Dick  coming.  Her  heart  leaped  to 
meet  him  ;  but  still  she  knew  it  was  not  he  that  moved 
her.  It  was  the  orchard.  He  came  along  the  path 
bareheaded,  and  she  held  the  book  with  both  her 
hands.  She  could  not  put  them  out  to  him.  He, 
too,  like  Katharine,  wore  the  toiler's  face. 

"Well,  Natalie?"  he  said.  Even  his  voice  had 
changed.  It  had  reserves  of  will,  and  under  that  a 
fall  of  sadness.  She  thought  of  Gilbert's  laugh,  and 
was  jealous  for  an  instant  because  his  middle  age  had 
a  joyance  denied  her  lost  love  in  his  youth.  Without 
conscious  purpose  she  opened  the  book,  and  took  out 
grannie's  telegram.  She  gave  it  to  him,  and  he  read 
it.  Then  he  smiled  a  little,  absently. 

"  I  wish  grannie  'd  stayed  with  us,"  he  said. 

She  could  not  speak.  He  gave  back  the  slip,  and 
stood  there  studying  her  face. 


THE   ORCHARD  381 

"  Well,  Natalie  ?"  he  said  again. 

"  Has  Katharine  come  home  ?  " 

Yet  she  knew  that. 

"  Yes.  Much  as  ever,  though.  She  'd  rather  work 
than  eat.  I  almost  think  we  're  going  to  get  some 
thing  out  of  that  old  magpie's  nest." 

"  She  works  too  hard.  So  do  you,  too.  You  must 
have  pleasures." 

"  I  shall  have  pleasures  when  I  get  you  back 
again." 

"  I  hate  to  see  you  tired  and  dull.  It  is  n't  like  you. 
Katharine  says  so." 

"  I  'm  deadly  lonesome,  Natalie." 

"Do  you  think  Lorraine  will  marry  him?"  she 
asked,  against  her  will. 

"Levinski?  I  hope  so."  He  spoke  quite  simply. 
"  Then  maybe  she  '11  let  grannie  settle  down.  Gran 
nie 's  a  dear,  Natalie!  "  He  came  a  step  nearer,  and 
looked  at  her  searchingly.  "  You  're  different  some 
how." 

"  Am  I  ?  "  Her  lips  were  trembling,  and  she  did 
not  want  to  look  at  him.  Yet  his  eyes  held  hers,  and 
would  not  let  them  go. 

"  You  're  a  little  bit  more  like  Natalie,"  he  said,  as 
if  he  read  some  message  vital  to  him.  "  There  's  a 
new  kind  of  life  in  your  face.  What  are  you  think 
ing,  child  ?  " 

What  she  was  really  thinking  had  caught  her  by 
the  throat,  and  now  it  held  her  there.  The  sight  of 
him  grew  slowly  on  her :  Dick  not  in  his  smart  trap 
pings  as  she  used  to  see  him,  but  hot  and  tired  from 
his  work.  His  hair  was  moist  and  tumbled  from  the 
trying  day,  his  coat  was  dusty.  His  dear  shabbiness 


382  THE   HANKERINGS 

struck  at  the  centre  of  her  heart,  and  her  heart  an 
swered  in  so  many  words,  — 

"  Why,  he  's  my  man  !     He  's  mine  !  " 

The  slow  flooding  of  her  face  crept  upward  to  her 
hair.  She  stood  there  all  pink,  her  eyes  great  wells 
of  still  emotion,  and  Dick  absently  noted  two  white 
apple  petals  on  the  top  of  her  head.  He  seemed  to  be 
studying  her  in  every  phase  that  touched  his  chances 
with  her. 

"  I  Ve  been  thinking,  Natalie,"  he  said,  in  a  com 
monplace  way,  like  one  who  sought  out  new  efficacies 
for  life,  "that  maybe  if  you  kissed  me  you  might 
remember.  Something  might  come  back." 

Natalie  moved  softly  toward  him  like  a  wondering 
creature  drawn  by  a  perfect  kindliness.  He  took  her 
gently,  and  she  put  up  her  hands  and  laid  them  on 
his  head,  in  that  divinest  gesture  of  a  woman's  cher 
ishing. 

"  O  my  love !  "  she  said.     "  My  love ! " 


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